Harbinger of Destiny: Herald of Fate
by Shadow Fiend
Summary: Having disappeared during the Third Task, Harry returns to Hogwarts during what would be his seventh year. However, he comes not as a student, but a slave bound to an Elf. No one knows he is back, but he must find a way to make his presence known.
1. Prologue

**_The Harbinger of Destiny: Herald of Fate_**

**Prologue

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_The supreme irony of life is that hardly anyone gets out of it alive._

_Robert Heinlein._

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Settled silently in her place at Gryffindor table, Hermione Granger sent an encouraging smile at a nervous looking first year. The girl, who was wringing her hands in anxiety, noticed Hermione's gaze and seemed to calm down. Her job done, Hermione turned away from the first years and her smile immediately dropped, leaving her mouth caught in a tight line.

Diverting her eyes and her attention away from the spectacle that was the Sorting, Hermione matched gazes with her friend Ronald Weasley, who acknowledged her with a sad nod of his head. The relationship they once had, close and nearly intoxicating at the end of their fourth year, was only a shadow of what it once was, strained by the loss of the third of their triumvirate.

For a second, as their eyes met, that tension seemed to wash away, and, locking gazes in a mournful way, their lives seemed to interlock as they once had, in mutual dismay.

Hermione shook her head, and broke the staring match. It was the beginning of her seventh and final year at Hogwarts. She would be learning important things this year, planning for the future that awaited her behind these walls. She should be excited, happy. Instead, her mood was overcast by the dreary reality that once again her old friend would not be joining her on her adventures.

Not able to stop herself, but knowing the futility of it just the same, Hermione allowed her gaze to sweep across the Gryffindor table. All she saw was Colin Creevey engaged in an animated discussion with an overwhelmed and newly sorted first year, Lavender Brown laughing gently at something Parvati Patil had just said, and Dean and Seamus conspiring quietly beside an equally quiet and somber Ron.

Three times her eyes had followed this same route, desperately seeking the boy who she hadn't seen since the third task of the Triwizard Tournament, portkeying away from the school grounds and subsequently her life. She should really no better than to hope.

Distantly, she heard McGonagall conclude the Sorting Ceremony and Dumbledore begin to speak. Beside her, Neville, shooting her a concerned glance, nudged her and she grasped on to cohesion enough to listen to the headmaster's words.

"—Hogwarts has been bestowed with a great opportunity to assist in the coming war with the Dark Lord. This year, Hogwarts will host the Elvin High Lord Heir Amin Elliot Siff Ranus and his sister Lady Allenia Riza Ranus. The Elves are a generally reclusive people and have not yet formed an alliance in the coming war with Voldemort"-he ignored the flinches and continued-"I ask that you all treat our visitors with the utmost respect. If they are sorted into your house I trust you to make them feel at home and if they are not sorted into your house I trust you not to bring house rivalries between a possible alliance between the Wizarding World and the Elves."

Hermione nodded mutely at that. It would not due to ostracize possible allies just because of some petty difference of opinion. If Harry's disappearance had taught her anything it was that some things were not worth the pain they could cause. The bitterness between Gryffindor and Slytherin was just one of those things. The Headmaster continued.

"That being said, there are several things about the Elvin culture that differ from our own. Some of these things you may not approve of, but I must ask you to hold your tongue. The culture and the morals that the Elvin people hold most dear are not likely to change, regardless of our opinions, at least not now. And friendship between our two cultures is more important than taking offense with something beyond your control."

This statement had several people's attentions piqued. Hermione was hit with a sudden sense of foreboding. There was something wrong with the way the Headmaster had fidgeted as he said those words, how the twinkle had dimmed fractionally, almost imperceptibly. Dumbledore paused for a second then cleared his throat.

"The High Lord Heir Amin and Lady Allenia will be bringing their servants with them to Hogwarts for protection and personal needs and among these servants are several slaves."

The majority of the Great Hall gasped and Dumbledore nodded slightly. Hermione felt her stomach lurch. Slavery? And they were bringing the slaves to Hogwarts? It was bad enough with the House Elves enslavement.

"Yes my children. Slavery is a common part of the Elves culture. While the Elves are here I must ask that you treat their slaves and servants with respect as well as adhere to the regulations on said persons as set before them by their Elvin masters. In other words, do not encourage revolt. Remember that by accepting the Elvin culture, you are furthering the goals of the Wizarding World. That must take precedence over all else."

He let the chatter erupt in the Great Hall as the students absorbed his words. Beside Hermione, Neville fidgeted restlessly, shaking his head. "I can't believe this," he whispered to her, Hermione mutely nodded. Across the table, Ron caught her eyes again, gauging her reaction. After all, he was well aware of her views on House Elf enslavement. She shook her head slightly, then shrugged helplessly. He turned away.

As the whispers and shouts of outrage died down, Dumbledore spoke once again. "I ask you now to greet High Lord Heir Amin Elliot Siff Ranus who will be joining the seventh years and his sister Lady Allenia Riza Ranus who will be joining the sixth years."

The doors to the Great Hall swung open and the teachers at the head table quickly got to their feet and bowed slightly, Dumbledore included, as two figures in hooded silver robes walked into the room. The students, in a mix of confusion and fascination, remained seated. Trailing behind them, a group of seven other figures, six men and a woman, all of whom in standard black robes, hoods down except for four of the men, followed after them, stopping about ten feet behind them as the two approached the Head Table and bowed in return.

As the two stood up once again, the teachers seated themselves and Professor McGonagall opened the Sorting Scroll once again.

"Ranus, Allenia."

The smaller figure reached up and put down her hood, revealing her face to the Hall. She stood perhaps 5'7, around four inches shorter than her brother and was petite. Her dirty blonde hair was sorted into two braids which wrapped around her head and met in a third which fell to her lower back. Her ears, the most obvious sign of her Elvin lineage, were pointed. Her almond eyes were golden, set in her tan face, and wide-eyed as she took in the wonders of the Great Hall. Her mouth was small and pouty, upturned in a smile, and her nose small and pointed up, giver her a sweet and rather innocent look.

She approached the Sorting Hat with an air of excitement and plopped the Hat on her head, and herself in the chair with a rather regal grace. Hermione watched the emotions on the girls face as she talked with the Hat. A sort of puzzlement at first, quickly followed by a shy smile, and then a nod of agreement. The Sorting Hat divulged it's decision.

"Gryffindor."

Hermione started. An Elf, a _slaver_ in her house, sleeping under the same roof as she? In Gryffindor, the house of the brave and virtuous? It didn't seem possible. Applause shook the table, and Hermione forced her hands to act out the motion as the girl settled in next to Ginny, who quickly engaged her in pleasant conversation.

McGonagall cleared her throat once Allenia was settled and read the next name off the list.

"Ranus, Amin."

The second figure, taller than Allenia, shook off the hood gracefully. His chestnut hair was done up in much the same manner as his sisters', except where she had two braids, he had three, one in the center, before it converged into one. The resemblance between the two lay mostly in their faces, as the same golden, almond-shaped eyes peered out from a tan face. A thin scar ran down over his equally thin eyebrow. Unlike his sister, his mouth was taut in a tight line, and his pointed ears strained back towards his servants, as though trying to catch them speaking out of turn. He was muscular, but not bulky, and admittedly good looking, though Hermione couldn't shake the cold aura coming off of him.

As he settled the Hat atop his head, shooting it a look of disdain at its ragged appearance, and sat on the stool, his face turned from cooly impassive to indignant. "He is mine to do with as I will," he whispered angrily, in an odd lilt that spoke of a foreign tongue. Hermione had to strain to hear his words. His brow furrowed from beneath the Hat and a sneer crossed his lips. He pulled the Hat off his head as the Hat shouted out its decision.

"Slytherin."

The boy stood and dropped the Hat quickly on the stool. He turned towards the Slytherin table, who hurried to free a space near Draco Malfoy, but did not hurry to take that place. Instead he addressed the Headmaster, gesturing to the people who had stood behind him in their black cloaks.

"My Overseer Undernoble Barrylus Kabul and my Guardian Undernoble Felinar Freelasco will require seats at your table Headmaster," he said in his strange lilt.

"Of course," the Headmaster said cheerfully, conjuring two more chairs at the end of the table.

Two of the Elves in black stepped forward to take those seats. One, Freelasco, Hermione guessed, had his dark hair cropped short and was extremely thin. He had dark eyes and his tan complexion seemed out of place. He took the offered seat beside Hagrid with a sneer at the half-breed. The other, an extremely large bull of a man, with blond hair, tied back in a short braid at the nape of his neck, and sapphire blue eyes settled next to him.

"And the rest of your company?" the Headmaster enquired pleasantly.

"They will eat in your kitchens when their services are not required," Amin answered shortly. As if on cue, the rest of the people who had accompanied the Elvin Heir and his sister in took up posts, one hooded man on each of the four walls of the Great Hall, leaving the remaining woman standing alone.

"My bodyguard," Amin explained to the inquisitive looking Dumbledore about the four men. "And my personal slave," he said, indicating the woman, who had her head bowed, the only feature able to be made out was her long and free-falling red hair.

Amin sat down at the Slytherin table and the woman hurried over to him, sitting silently at his feet like a dog. At least that's how Hermione saw it. Several students shifted uncomfortably in their seats at this action and Hermione noted that even the Slytherins seemed slightly off balance. Except, of course, Draco Malfoy, who quickly struck up a conversation.

Dumbledore took his seat amidst the teachers and Hermione shook her head, commenting to Neville, "Hogwarts is definitely going to be different this year."

After the feast found Amin, Allenia, the two Undernobles, the four bodyguard, and the personal servant, along with Professors Snape and McGonagall sitting across from a senile and twinkling old man in said old man's magically enlarged office.

"First of all," the headmaster said as the students, overseer, guardian, and professors settled themselves into their respective seats and the bodyguard spread out across the walls while the personal slave settled down once again at her Master's feet. "Allow me to tell you how very honored we are to have the two of you at Hogwarts this year."

Allenia smiled warmly at him and the headmaster smiled back as she started to ramble. "Oh, it is such a wondrous thing to be here Professor," she said, her voice lilting up at different syllables. "It is so very beautiful, and I am sure you wizards have many things you can teach us, and..."

"Quiet Allenia," Amin commanded and Allenia subsided immediately, and he addressed the headmaster in her stead. "It is an honor to be here Professor."

"We have prepared rooms each for Mr. Kabul and Mr. Freelasco near the Slytherin dormitories Mr. Ranus," the headmaster said. "And we have given you your own room with an attachment for your slaves as we thought that the best suitable situation. Your own room is near the Slytherin dormitories behind the picture of the Elvin Maiden. The password is 'alliance', and you can change it as need be. I trust you already have the Slytherin password?" At Amin's affirmative nod, Dumbledore smiled.

"Well then, that is just about it. Do you have any questions for me Mr. Ranus, Ms. Ranus? No? Well then, you had best get some rest. Your heads of house will show you to your rooms respectively. I do hope you enjoy your stay at Hogwarts."

The Elves and professors filed out, but a strange thing happened as they left. One of the bodyguard, the last to leave the room stopped at the doorway and knocked three times on the wall before shooting the Headmaster a glance from beneath his hood, then disappeared.

The Headmaster's brow furrowed in confusion.

The rooms assigned to the High Lord Heir were moderately luxurious. There was a main bedroom, a bathroom, and a door with a padlock on it that led to the slaves' rooms. Amin held the key to that lock.

While Rosalina prepared the Master for bed, the bodyguard checked the walls for listening spells or any sort of threat. They found none.

Finally locked in for the night, the bodyguard lowered their hoods at last. One of them revealed a strikingly handsome face with short cropped brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He stood six foot two and his arms literally rippled with muscles. His name was Devon Dahlios, a veteran soldier of twenty-two, and a sixth-generation member of an enslaved Elvish family.

The second revealed a wiry red head who stood six foot four and was the tallest of the bodyguard as well as the oldest at twenty four. He had silvery eyes and an amiable aura. His name was Amick Reginald, a newly acquired slave of about two years, but one who had accepted his fate.

The third was a man with a gaunt face and haunted brown eyes. He had white blonde hair and would have been handsome save for his impassive demeanor. He was six foot and solid, not too bulky or too wiry. He, too, was newly acquired but had not come to the same acceptance as Amick. His name was Peliamos Renaldi.

The last and final face was the one that would have surprised the students or teachers, or really anyone in Hogwarts had they seen it. For he was not Elvin, but human. One of only two human slaves currently held in all of the Elvin society. He had ebon black hair which was as long as his Elvin masters, an indirect sign of accomplishment. His piercing emerald and slanted eyes shown out from his tanned skin and a pouty mouth added to his overall thrall. He was short by even human standards, standing only five foot eight, but was well built, with tenuous but not bulky muscles. He was the youngest at seventeen and also the Head of the Bodyguard.

His name was Harry Evans. He was once Harry Potter.


	2. Chapter One

**_Harbinger of Destiny: Herald of Fate_**

**Chapter One**

Disclaimer: I do not claim rights on anything you have seen before, merely the characters and plotlines that you have not.

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_The real hero is always a hero by mistake; he dreams of being an honest coward like everybody else._

_Umberto Eco_

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Ron's life had changed drastically during the years following his friend's disappearance. It had been a gradual change. At first he had been able to keep a solid hold of his usual demeanor as he held out hope that Harry would be found. Half a year passed and that hope began to dwindle. Then they had found the remains of Cedric Diggory's body–in a cemetery no less–and hope all but died.

The friendship he had maintained with Hermione, even during those last optimistic months, had withered and died after _that_ particular discovery. They were equally at fault for that. Ron had withdrawn deep into himself, matured by loss as he could not have been by any other experience, and Hermione had reaffirmed the comfort she had taken from solitude in her youth.

They still exchanged pleasantries, even had small conversations, but being near each other was too strained, tense and awkward, and seemed to reenforce the reality that the third of their trio was not with them.

His family had been supportive, but they were dealing with their own grief. Ginny hadendured sudden fits of depression, even undergoing grief counseling at St. Mungo's for a month during the summer following her fourth year. She was better now, but still prone to sudden fits of despair. It struck Ron how much he had been oblivious to the budding relationship between his sister and his best friend when Harry had still been around. He had been oblivious to a lot of things back then, and it hurt him to see his sister in pain.

It did not help that no body was found, allowing some of the more stubborn members of Harry's small family, namely his distraught godfather, to cling to hope that Harry still might be found. It did not help that Dumbledore was in denial and refused to allow a memorial service, fearing the panic that would spread through the Wizarding community if Harry was proclaimed dead. It did not help that some could not accept the truth and allow the rest some closure.

Ron knew it was time to start looking forward. To make new friends, enjoy the last year of his schooling, and plan for his future. And he wanted to. But aside from his immediate friendship with Harry, and his passionate, if sometimes controversial, relationship he had once shared with Hermione, Ron did not make friends easily.

As a pureblood wizard he had not had much contact with the muggle children who lived near his house. Not able to understand them and their ways, it was preferred that the Weasley children stay close to home and their magical heritage. Not being well-respected purebloods made it hard to form relationships with magical children.

Bill had a certain suave charm about him that had always allowed him to make friends easily. Charlie and his easygoing manner made him naturally amiable and he seemed to attract people, especially girls, like honey does bees. Percy...well Percy was Percy and his ambition was enough social fulfillment for him. Fred and George had each other, and their reckless abandon, instead of making them off-limits, acted the same way as Bill's charm. And Ginny had always been a social butterfly.

But Ron? It was harder. When he had befriended Harry on the train, thoughts of forming relationships with his other classmates seemed to slide into the background. And forming tight bonds in later schooling? Harder.

People tend to form quick friendships in boarding school, as they are tucked away from other people and must depend upon those around them for support. But that same quickness acted in reverse as well. The students formed such tight bonds so quickly that for one to enter into a close friendship later on was incredibly difficult.

But it was time to take one step out the door of his closed heart. He had grieved for Harry. Mourned him for years following his disappearance. Harry would always hold that special place within Ron's heart as his very first and closest friend. He would never forget him, and he would always honor his memory. But it was, regardless, time to concentrate on his own life now.

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Harry fought the urge to shift uncomfortably as he stood on guard in the potions dungeon he was so familiar with from his own Hogwarts days. To distract himself he focused instead on the people sharing his master's potions class. It was NEWT Potions with the Slytherins and Gryffindors, so of course Neville was no where in sight. Neither was Seamus or Lavender. But Dean and Parvati worked quietly in the corner, desperately attempting to avoid the professor's wrath. Hermione, of course, was there as well, and, most surprisingly, so was Ron, sitting quite close to his master. 

He avoided looking at the two as much as he could, given Ron's close proximity to his master and tried to turn his thoughts away from his former friends. It was no use to dwell on the past. They didn't know he was there, in the same room as them, and they couldn't, wouldn't. The bodyguard kept their hoods up at all times. It made it that much easier if they weren't recognizable should they take their hoods off. It made the master more secure.

Of course, if Harry took off _his_ hood, he would be easily recognizable. The only human in a mass of Elves, and the lightning bolt scar that had never faded. Harry shook himself away from those thoughts and surveyed the room with keen eyes, checking for any threats to his master, as ludicrous as that thought might seem, and turned his musings to the Slytherins.

There were surprisingly few Slytherins that had made the necessary OWL to advance to NEWT Potions. Draco Malfoy was there of course, and his master, Millicent Bulstrode, and, incredibly, Gregory Goyle.

They were brewing a variation of the Dreamless Sleep potion currently, a difficult potion by any means, but one with plenty of interludes for quiet conversation as the students waited to add the next ingredient.

The Slytherins had crowded at the two front tables, each doing their own individual potions. Ron sat at a table to his master's left, and Malfoy sat to his right. Hermione was behind Ron's table, a seating arrangement that Harry found odd... had his two best friend's friendship dissipated in his absence?

"Really Weasley," a voice broke Harry out of his reverie, and, instinctively he readied himself for a fight, when he realized that he did not have the right to defend his friend unless his master so ordered him. Snape bore down on Ron. "You are to stir _counterclockwise_, which means in the opposite direction that you are currently stirring. Is that concept incomprehensible to you? Or are you still incapable of acting intelligently without Potter's overbearing presence?"

Harry sucked in a breath as he saw Ron's hands clench around the ladle he was stirring his cauldron with, but instead of the fight he had anticipated, Ron merely altered the direction of his stirring, saving his potion from ruin. Snape stood over him for a second, before moving on. It seemed Ron had apparently taken Harry's place as Snape's scapegoat.

He was brought suddenly out of his musings by his former rival's posh voice. The wizard had been shooting envious looks at harry and the other guard, Devon, stationed in the room-the other two stood watch over Allenia, who was less prone to trouble-and now asked his master in an expectant voice, "What is it like to have so many people at your beck and call Amin?"

Harry's master winced at the familiarity of the Slytherin using his first name but answered in cool tones. "I expect it is much the same as having house elves at yours."

If Harry had not been so hardened to insults over the past years he would have been offended with being compared to a house elf, but, as it was, he merely let a stiletto drop to his hand, prepared to do his job and defend his master should Malfoy take offense to the answer.

Draco merely waved Amin's answer off, looking speculative and intensely curious. "Yes but these are people," and now the bastard looked excited-_probably wanting some Elvish slaves of his very own_, Harry thought-"Slaves. And you have complete control over them."

By now most of the class was caught up in the conversation, stirring their potions at intervals to avoid a glower from Snape. But the Potions Master was as enraptured by the conversation as everyone else, though, Harry noted with surprise, his hands were subtly clenched and his eyes slitted. He obviously did not approve of slavery. That made sense of course, because he was, in all but name, doubly enslaved to Voldemort and Dumbledore. But the Potions Master held his tongue.

Harry focused his concentration on the conversation instead of the class now. English was his mother-tongue of course, but he had been completely surrounded by the Elvish language for three years. Few Elves spoke English, and the only one Harry had met during his first year had been the cruel trainer who had taught him to speak Elvish, beating him at any use of English. And after almost three years completely immersed in another language and not daring to speak his own tongue aloud, he had less of a grasp on it than he ever had before. In fact, Allenia and Amin were more fluent with it than he, having undergone months of training to learn it in preparation for coming to Hogwarts. Being around English speaking people helped, but he still had to give it a lot of concentration.

Amin seemed to have given his response much consideration. "Yes, House Elves are much less useful than slaves, but there are also benefits of having House Elves. For one thing, they are obedient by nature while it may take months to break a slave into submission." He cocked a head in Harry's direction. "That one, I am told, who now serves as the Head of my bodyguard, took a year and a half to break, an unusually long time."

People looked at Harry now, and he once again resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably. Some muttered amongst themselves, too fast for Harry to make out the English, but he caught the gist of it. They were surprised that he was the head of the bodyguard. He looked neither muscular enough-those he did have being hidden underneath his very loose robes-and was also the shortest of the slaves, standing only 5'8.

Amin continued, adding the bicorn horn to his potion at exactly the right time. "Some slaves of course, having been born as such, are easier to control, as they know no other life. Some, like him," he nodded at Harry again and Harry was amused by how his master had no clue that he understood what was being said-Amin knew he was human of course, but believed all slaves spoke only Elvish, "were captured during conflict and take a longer time to break."

Draco nodded his understanding. "Yes, but once they are accustomed to such a life, surely they accept it?"

Amin snorted. "Would you wantonly accept enslavement?" he asked Draco, and the boy quickly shook his head in the negative. "I thought not. Besides, there is always the risk of rebellion, even after the initial breaking. That one," and he pointed a lazy finger at Harry, "caused the scar which mars my brow in one of his numerous attempts to escape."

Draco's eyes flickered to the scar running across Amin's eyebrow and then to the slave in question. "He was suitably punished of course?"

"He would have been put to death if he wasn't so valuable," his master said. "As it was, he was...reeducated...and returned to me when he was broken enough so that I could control him."

Draco looked ready to say something else when, all of a sudden another voice broke in. "Reeducated, broken, disgusting terminology to use for living, breathing people. Can't you see how wrong this is?"

Harry's heart dropped. It was Hermione who had spoken, appealing to the Gryffindors around her, but they avoided her gaze. Ron shot her a warning look, which she promptly ignored in the midst of her tirade. The room became deathly quiet, even Snape shocked into silence by the girl's gall. And after all the lengths the Headmaster had gone to warn them about not antagonizing the Elves.

Amin turned to face the human girl slowly, his face hardened and his mouth in a taut line. "You should not speak about what you do not understand girl," he said in a deathly tone, and Hary felt his stomach lurch at the warning. _Please Hermione, just accept it_, he thought, to no avail.

"What is there not to understand?" she questioned pertly. "You take people and you form them into your unwilling servants, using any means necessary to assure their subservience. It is a disgusting practice." Snape shook his head irately at the girl's words and hurried over to cut off the conversation which was quickly entering onto dangerous territory, when Amin responded.

"It is the way of our culture," Amin snapped back. "Slaves have, and always will, remain a part of the Elvinculture.Some ofthem come as prizes of war, they having fought against us, so they are not as innocent as you seem to think."

This did not appease Hermione. "So the price for their difference of opinion is a life of licking your boots. You Elves are truly disgusting."

Harry winced as Amin's aura flared almost palpably. He would not take well to an insult on his people. It happened in almost slow motion. Amin raised his arm, emitting a blinding glow and shot it at Hermione. Harry had no time to think and merely acted, and dashed in front of Hermione.

HIs master looked fit to kill when Harry dared look up, as one of his own slaves absorbed the shock of the Elvish magic intended for the human girl. It was an elemental shock, a curse which most Elves, with their high tolerance of magic, were accustomed to, but one which a human might find mortally dangerous.

Harry, having been taught in elemental magic extensively during his training to become the head of the bodyguard, calmly accepted the magic into his essence before allowing it to dissipate into the wards surrounding Hogwarts, where it could do little harm.

Amin's eyes glazed over and Harry knew instinctively taht he was telepathically communicating with Kabul and that the Overseer would soon be down to deal with the miscreant slave.

Chancing a glance around the rest of the room he found most of the room staring at him in stunned silence. Ron stood a foot or two away, he as well coming to Hermione's aid, and, had Harry not interfered, would have shielded Hermione a second too late. Snape was glaring at Amin behind his back but, feeling Harry's gaze on him, adjusted his glance to stare sorrowfully at Harry. Obviously he knew, if no one else, what Harry was likely about to endure for his heroics. _Always did have that hero-complex_, Harry mused, though deeper inside he was frightened at what was about to happen to him.

The door slammed open, emitting a red-faced Kabul and the tall, wiry figure of Freelasco, Amin's Guardian. Kabul took one look at the situation and let loose a hearty growl. _"Aloferso draman lee peterosco?" _he questioned Amin. _What manner of disobedience is this?_

"I did not order him to protect her," he said, switching the spoken language to English so those around could understand. It would give them an acknowledgement of what particular crime Harry had committed as well as not allow-in Amin's mind- the slave to understand what they were saying about him.

"I see," Kabul said gruffly, pulling out a two-foot long chain. Harry's heart beat wildly. Kabul drew Harry away from Hermione roughly, pulling up the sleeves of his robe to reveal the golden cuffs that all slaves wore, and connected the chain to the hooks attached to either cuff. Then he pulled Harry out of the room.

* * *

When the slave and that massive man left the room, Snape hurriedly dismissed the class, fleeing to the Headmaster's office to discuss what had happened in his Potion's class. When he had finished, Dumbledore's eyes looked weary and bare. 

"There is little I can do Severus," he said patiently, if tiredly.

"I recognized that magic that Amin used," Snape said belligrently. "If it had hit the Granger girl she would be terribly if not fatally injured. The slave stopped the idiots death at his master's hands. Surely you can do something."

Dumbledore shook his head. "It is not our place to interfere in the matters of Elvish slaves," he said. "If that heroic act was seen as some sort of treason, then we must allow the Elves to mete out the punishment. Hermione has risked much with this venture."

"Albus, you must convince that girl to watch her tongue," Snape said. "If not for her misplaced words, none of this would have happened. If she cannot control herself then she will have to be excused from my Potion's classes."

The headmaster nodded his head. "I will have a talk with Miss Granger. I suspect she does not realize how far-reaching her actions will be. She will learn to keep her opinions to herself, or to express them in a way that is not so...pointed."

Personally the Potions Master didn't think that was nearly enough, but he nodded his head anyway. He stood to go and paused at the door. "From my experience with Elves,Albus, if the nature of the offense was public, so too will be the punishment. I suspect that we shall all reap the consequences of Miss Granger's words, if only watching the poor boy...reeducated."

And with that he walked out.


	3. Chapter Two

**_Harbinger of Destiny: Herald of Fate_  
Chapter Two**

Disclaimer: I do not claim rights on anything you have seen before, merely the characters and plotlines that you have not.

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_In the part of this universe that we know there is often great injustice. The good often suffer, and the wicked often prosper, and one hardly knows which is the more annoying.  
-Bertrand Russell_

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She didn't know why she had come. It must have been that sense of regret which resided within her and the feeling of obligation to, if only silently, support the one who had to endure the consequences of her bad judgment. 

She had felt sickened when Amin remarked idly to Malfoy that the slave who had protected here would be punished that evening in the courtyard. Malfoy, of course, was gleeful at the opportunity to watch and had spread word to his cohorts. Soon, most of the school knew.

Standing in the courtyard now she was unsurprised by the amount of people who had shown up to witness this promised public display.

Malfoy and his band of course, with the entirey to the Slytherin House, including the first years, stood leering near Amin, who seemed impatient to get this over with. Ron stood by himself, a dark look on his face. The rest of the seventh year Gryffindors stood in a quiet group. There were few Hufflepuffs present, but Hermione spotted third-year Antoine Dolohov, a surprise Sorting if ever she saw one. Some Ravenclaws were present with thoughtful expressions on their faces. Neville stood beside her, shivering.

"Perhaps you should go in," Hermione suggested gently, remembering how the oby's parents had reached their current mental incapacity. Neville furiously shook his head.

"No, we can't leave him alone. He will need us," Neville's eyes carried an eerie glint and his voice held no hint of his usual nervous stammer.

"We can do nothing for him," Hermione reminded him cautiously.

"You are wrong," Neville shook his head again. "Our presence will give him the support he needs to not break."

Their conversation was cut short by Kabul's arrival. The hulky overseer pulled the slave along on the chain he had used earlier. The slave was devoid of his usual robes and wore only thin cotton pants and no shirt. A rough burlap sack shielded his face from view, tied at the neck and Hermion wondered briefly how he could breath. Now that he was without his usual attire, the students could see the thin scars that traced the tenuous muscles which rippled across his back.

Kabul drew the man face first against a tree and lashed his arms around the tree by using the chain to attach the two gold manacles. It was too short of a chain to make the position comfortable, and everyone could see the strain in the man's arms, though he did not let out a whimper.

Kabul stepped away now and eyed the slave's bare back in a thoughtful way. Then he drew the whip he carried on him, ignoring the gasps of the students.

Hermione rolled her eyes at some of the students deploring their stupidity. This was a punishment, not a social event. What did they expect? Yet even as she was thinking this, she felt her stomach roll in protest at the action.

The overseer raised the whip and brought it down inches away from either side of the slave's face. He flinched but said nothing.

"It is Kabul's way of telling him what is about to happen to him," Neville muttered in explanation, Hermione nodded mutely.

Kabul ordered something in harsh Elvish.

"He is telling him that he must count to end the punishment," Neville said softy. Hermione looked at him in surprise.

The Gryffindor looked defensive. "All purebloods know some Elvish," he said. "At least the ones with money. At some point or another we are likely to have dealings with them and more often than not it is proffitable to communicate directly rather than with the aid of an interpreter."

Hermione turned her attention fully on the boy now. "So Malfoy..."

"Yes," Neville affirmed. "Malfoy most likely knows some, if not all, of the Elvin tongue. His lot would. If Harry..." the seventh year swallowed convulsively, "...if Harry had been around, my Gram would have insisted that he join me in learning. The Potters are as rich as any other purebloods."

Hermione wanted to inquire further about this but her attention was drawn back to the courtyard by a loud _thwack_. The punishment had begun. "_Alle_," came a strained voice from beneath the burlap sack. "One," Neville intoned dutifully, but Hermione did not need his translation. She understood now what she had caused.

* * *

From the minute he had been dragged into the courtyard, Harry had known that he would have a public punishment. Somehow, this caused him more grief than knowing what was soon to come. However, as the punishment had commenced, all these thoughts were drowned out as the pain overwhelmed him. Yes, it is as painful as it ever was, he thought wryly to himself as the lashes came down upon his barren back.

"_Neki_," he grunted with as much force as he could muster as the next blow rained down on him. Ten. And fifteen more to go. Harry began the technique of disassociation. His arms were wrought with tension and he could feel the circulation cut off to his hands, the bark of the tree was rough and opened small wounds upon his chest, the sack allowed him little oxygen for breathing, never mind counting, and every time he shifted his feet for comfort, the whip thudded into his legs as a remind to remain still. Kabul knew what he was doing, and altered the length of time between each lash, leaving Harry in constant tension, not knowing when the next blow would fall.

Now, he disconnected from the pain, allowing his mind to take him where it would. He distracted himself by thinking about his former friends.

Ron had seemed so very quiet…meek even, and Hermione so very brazen. He snorted to himself slightly even as he grunted out, "_Piq_." Fifteen. Hermione really was a Gryffindor, through and through. She had intelligence poring out her ears but not an ounce of common sense. Somehow, despite the trouble she had caused, that endeared her to him. The strain between Hermione and Ron was troubling though.

A sharp shock brought him back to himself and he barely restrained letting ring a string of Elvish curses. Kabul stood over him, pinching him harshly. Foolhardy, Harry mused, trying to escape punishment in that way. Kabul was a professional, with years of experience. He knew when slaves were no longer there.

Kabul stepped back and lashed the whip to either side of his face, barely an inch away. It was a signal to repeat the last number counted. Absently, Harry said, "_Vaen_." Twenty. That meant there were five more to go if Kabul was adhering to the usual punishment for such a misdemeanor.

To Harry's surprise, Kabul stopped. He felt his heart pound with trepidation. Kabul was such a by-the-book kind of man, if he did not complete the entire whipping then he must have something worse planned.

And then the order came. He was to remain there the night and the next day. A twenty-four hour public humiliation, with his blood still running in rivulets down his back, his pants soaked with it, and the rough burlap sack marring his vision and breath. He allowed himself a quiet gasp of horror.

* * *

Hermione watched with watery eyes as the punishment commenced. By the fifth, she had been ready to throw herself in front of the poor slave and end his silent suffering, but at that point Ron had appeared and wrapped his sturdy arms around her, holding her in place. He knew her to well. He did not try to drag her off, and for that much she was grateful. Somehow he knew that she had to remain.

She distracted herself by watching her fellow onlookers instead of the actual spectacle. By the tenth lash, all of the Ravenclaws had disappeared, sickened looks across their faces. By the fifteenth, all of the Gryffindors save for herself, Ron, Ginny, Allenia, and, surprisingly, Neville had gone as well, taking most of the youngest Slytherins with them, unable to watch the beating, and the silent torment any longer.

By the end of the punishment, she was sobbing to herself and she felt tears run down onto her hair from Ron. Neville remained oddly dried eyed, but his face was pale and blank, his fists clenched to his sides.

Then, abruptly, the punishment ended, and a string of Elvish words escaped the overseer's lips. She turned to Neville for a translation, but the boy was still caught in his odd trance. She caught on quickly enough though, as Kabul constructed two wooden poles in the middle of the courtyard. He unchained the bloody slave from the tree and half-dragged him over to the poles, forcing him to his knees in the center of them and raising his arms up to a considerable length on either pole, then chaining them each individually there.

"He will remain there twenty-four hours," Neville said quietly, broken out of his self-imposed isolation.

The courtyard emptied of people quickly. Kabul gave a nod to Amin, and the Elvish lord turned on his heel, apparently having seen enough. Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins followed him, some of them trying vainly to conceal the disgust they felt, though Malfoy was not one of them and merely allowed a pleased smile to cross his face.

Ginny stormed away from an alarmed Allenia immediately after the Slytherins had disappeared inside the castle, and the Elvish girl gave the figure attached to the poles a rueful look before following the Gryffindor at a slower pace, giving Ginny time to get her thoughts together.

Soon, only Ron, Neville, and herself were left.

"Do nothing foolish," Ron told her, as he released her at last.

* * *

Ginny hadn't cried this hard since Harry had disappeared three years previous. She had restrained herself through most of the punishment, but by the end tears streamed down her face in an endless river. She didn't know why she had stayed for the entire thing, but something, _something_, had compelled her to remain, though she knew not what it was. She didn't even know this slave, but something made her empathize with his pain, cry out in sadness and rage as he was not allowed to do.

She had felt such sorrow in that courtyard, standing in solemn silence beside Allenia, who watched the punishment with her. Now though, in the peaceful quiet of her dorm room, alone, as no doubt the rest of her year mates were somewhere gossiping, she felt herself succumb to rage.

What kind of people allowed such things to happen? What gave _anyone_, any right to enslave someone and force them to do their bidding? Why hadn't someone stepped in to stop it? Wizards were so concerned with the darklord and the threat he represented, but they did nothing about the horrors that were already going on!

She punched her pillow repeatedly as she let out vicious cries, dry-eyed now, as she had no more tears to spare. She felt the despair that she had had to endure since Harry's disappearance being to set in and she tried to focus on happier thoughts and times, as her counselor had told her to do, but as soon as one fleeted through her mind, the image of that poor slave, on his knees, bleeding, reappeared.

A window shattered suddenly and Ginny tried desperately to reign in her thoughts. Her magic had a habit of spinning out of control when she was upset and it often did so in a destructive way. Like Harry's, she had been told, and the thought calmed her.

A small cough interrupted her, and Ginny turned her reddened and tear streaked face to the Elf standing in her doorway. Her eyes hardened, and words tumbled, unthinkingly onto her lips, "Enjoyed that I'm sure?"

Allenia winced, and shook her head slowly. "I am not responsible for the faults of my people," her lilting voice wavered slightly, as though she was trying to convince herself as much as the girl before her.

"But you…_you_ could do something," Ginny insisted angrily, standing now in her full glory of five foot five and glaring at the elegant beauty before her. "You could make it stop."

"I couldn't," Allenia said, shaking her head. "If I could've, I would've. But it was not my place," her voice hardened slightly, but not unkindly. "Just as it is not your place to judge what you do not understand."

"What is there not to understand!" Ginny raged. "You creatures, you Elves, you take people away from their homes and enslave them to do what you will. Then, if they dare to speak up or act in a way not suiting to you, you do what I have just witnessed."

Allenia frowned. "Not all of us are like my brother Ginny," she said. "Unfortunately, those of us who are not are a small quantity and are status does not allow for us to speak up."

Ginny calmed down slightly, her despair retreating back into the recesses of her mind once again, waiting for another reason to appear. "I know that," she said in apology. "I know that. Not every member of a race of people is like another, and I should not take my anger out on you."

"It is alright," Allenia forgave her instantly, understanding. "I understand your need to rage at someone, anyone, if only because you know you cannot do anything else. What you just saw was Elves at their worst. I am sorry we could not help that slave, at least."

"Maybe we can," Ginny said earnestly, meeting Allenia's golden eyes. Allenia nodded in agreement.

"We will think of something."

* * *

A/N: Ok, a couple things folks. First of all, I am eternally grateful for the reviews everyone has taken the time and efforst to give my story. Second, a few of you have been wondering why Harry doesn't simply break free from the Elves, and all I can say to that is that you need to be patient. It is all part of the storyline my friends, and it would ruin the plot if I simply let everything out in the first two chapters. Everything will be understood in time my friends and I assure you that my story _does_ in fact, have logic to it. It simply has not been yet developed to its full potential yet. All good things come in time friends, all in in good time. 


	4. Chapter Three

**Harbinger of Destiny: Herald of Fate**

**Chapter Three

* * *

**

_Necessity is the plea for every infringement of human freedom. It is the argument of tyrants; it is the creed of slaves. _

_William Pitt

* * *

_

It was a small mercy they had left him like this.

True, he had not been forced to stand all night, or chafe his bare chest against the rough bark of the tree he had been chained to, but there were worse things. The way he was tied up now, on his knees, hands held separate and forced above his head….it left little room for denial of his situation.

The largest mercy granted on him tonight was truly the bag that obscured his face from the large crowd that had watched his punishment. It was not intended to act in his interest, but it had allowed him to pretend that he did not know the people watching him. It allowed him to separate himself from the shame. At least somewhat.

He had not had to watch Hermione cry, though he felt her presence nearby, ominously close and strangely comforting. He had not seen Ron's stony face, nor his vacant eyes void of happiness as they were. That sight would have hurt him more than the punishment he had received.

He had not had to look into Malfoy's sneering face nor see him revel in his pain. He had not had to divert his eyes from his Master's angry glares.

He had not had to _see_ his pride stripped away from him in front of his former friends.

He heard the rustling as the crowd he assumed had been watching him drifted away and he let his head drop to his chest in relief. It was hot outside for an autumn day and the bag covering his face did not allow him much air. His back ached and stung and he shuttered as he imagined the infection he could have if not treated. He would be of course….he was too valuable to have damaged….but the bugs….

He was shaken out of his tired musings as a hand touched him gently on the shoulder, making him flinch as he had assumed everyone had left. The hand was quickly withdrawn and the person, no the people, there were at least three of them, settled in front of him.

"Neville…" oh Merlin, it was Hermione, and he could hear the tears in her voice. Neville as well. He reached out with his magical senses and noted Ron's presence as well. He couldn't handle this right now. A confrontation with his former friends as he hung, limp and bloody? Preposterous really and yet strangely typical. He was Harry Evans after all, and life could not be expected to sway in his favor. "Neville, tell him I'm sorry."

Harry started. Neville could speak Elvish? Since when?

"_Avi rento avis liko," _Neville said dutifully. Harry almost winced at the pronounced accent mutilating the words. Still, it was good to not have to concentrate on the English and be able to communicate.

"Ut ante adia," Harry said in a parched voice. You speak well. If only he hadn't that terrible accent. 

"_Taq_," Neville said, his voice brighter than before. Harry smiled to himself, then because he couldn't stand that accent for much longer, he surprised them all by speaking English, though his words were hesitating.

"You need not to apologize," he said. Oops. That came out distorted. Ah well, brush it off. "I would have done it for anyone."

Well, that wasn't really true, but they didn't need to know that. He would have jumped in front of that curse for any one of them. Maybe not Malfoy. They were too distracted by his English speaking abilities however, to pay much attention to his comment.

"You speak English!" Hermione stated the obvious in a shocked voice.

"Slightly," Harry admitted. "Easier to understand now, with people speaking all around."

"But I thought that Elves only spoke Elvish," Ron's voice sounded vaguely suspicious.

"Generally," Harry conceded, then hissed as the pain generating from his back came sharply back into focus.

This action seemed to distress Hermione even more so and she began to ramble. "I am so sorry…is there anything I can do for you? Do you want some water? Oh wait, no, I don't know how that would work…I can't take that bag off of your head can I? Maybe I can slacken the ropes a bit…"

"Too fast," Harry protested weakly at her tirade. "Can't make out words. I am fine. Please. Sleep now, if you leave."

He really did want them to leave. As comforting as their presence was he did not want to have to feel the shame their continued presence would cause him should he someday find a way to reveal himself.

"You want us to leave?" he could have kicked himself at her hurt tone of voice.

"Perhaps that's best 'Mione," Ron said for him. "Humans have caused him enough grief for one day."

"Ronald," she said, appalled, and Harry flashbacked to their younger years when she had used just that tone of voice in reprimand. He missed those days.

"Let's just go guys," Neville said, exasperated by their behavior. They turned to go, and Harry let out a breath of relief. And then _something_ perked his attention in the form of his magical awareness.

His vision automatically extended past the bag covering his face and searched out the magical essence it was sensing. And it found it hovering about the form of Neville Longbottom.

"_Ut an estaquiandi," _he said in shock, and Neville flung his body back around to stare at him. Harry had little doubt why. Neville was a clairvoyant, a foreteller of the future. In the Elvish language, he was a _Jequi_, roughly translated to English as "one who walks ahead".

"How did you know?" the boy was clearly startled, and thoroughly shaken. Harry wondered at that. Why had he kept this gift a secret? His family had always put such pressure on him to exhibit magical talent. Why, when he had such a gift to share, had he not made it public? Most clairvoyant's did, otherwise they would be of little use. Unless…

"A gift of my own," was Harry's answer. "You will do great things _Jeqiu_," he said finally. "Do not doubt your vision. Trust yourself and you will find a path that leads ahead."

Harry let his head hang once again, and Neville, dazed, followed his fellow Gryffindors indoors.

* * *

(A/N: Assume this conversation takes place in English.)

"Using an elemental attack upon a human," Renaldi Freelasco was muttering angrily, "was complete stupidity Lord Ranus. You had no way of knowing how it would react to her magical core. I was almost tempted to praise that miscreant slave today. You could have seriously damaged any hope for a treaty with the humans."

"In hindsight, I recognize that the idea was faulty," High Lord Heir Amin Ranus told his guardian curtly. "However, that does not allow my slaves free reign to act outside of my command. This is not the first offense of this particular slave, and if he were not so valuable as the head of my bodyguard, I'd sell him and be done with it."

"He is the only one trained amongst the slaves in the elementals my Lord," Freelasco reminded him.

"I know. Though why a human slave was trained in such a way, I'll never know. Especially one with a temperament such as he has. He has a history of defiance, and bringing him within range of other humans was not the brightest idea my father has had."

"He owes debts of obedience," Freelasco said.

Amin shot him a look. "I was not aware of this. Explain."

"He is not completely human if I remember correctly. His maternal grandfather was an Elvin slave who escaped to assimilate to a human lifestyle. He was brought in as a slave product from the Wizarding conflict, one of only two human slaves in the Elvish world. His lineage was discovered in the rudimentary genetic testing we do on all slaves.

"Once this connection was made, he was easily subdued. Seems that he has an aunt and a cousin of the same lineage, though neither of them have ever expressed any inherent magical ability, but you know that Elvish abilities have a tendency to lay dormant when exposed to human blood. He submitted to a debt of obedience in return for a vow to not intrude upon the lives of any progeny that the cousin or aunt. He submitted to another one in order to protect the aunt and cousin themselves. Other than that, we have few facts regarding his past.

"Anyway, the human is extremely powerful, probably due somewhat to the Elvish blood that he possesses in an albeit small quantity. Nevertheless, with his assured compliance in the form of the two debts, he was trained in the elemental arts and enslaved as any other."

Amin nodded in understanding. "And his defiance….?"

"A natural tendency my lord. As you know a debt of obedience merely means he cannot be separated beyond a five mile radius from the one who holds the debt, at this time they have been transferred to you Lord Ranus, though he can act in much the way he pleases else wise."

"Yes," Amin said in amusement. "That debt is somewhat of an oxymoron isn't it. Assured of proximity but not compliance, though they call it a debt of obedience."

"Yes, well," Freelasco cleared his throat. "That one knows his worth, rest assured, and he knows we will not damage him irreparably. I think this, perhaps, is what keeps him from the submission that the other slaves naturally fall into."

"A quandary then," Amin said coolly. "You are dismissed Renaldi."

Renaldi Freelasco made haste.

* * *

Fate was a cruel mistress. That was Harry's first thought as he awoke after a short nap. His position did not allow for comfort and he accepted his awareness wearily. It was almost dawn.

His friends had stood unknowingly before him without witnesses and he had kept his silence regarding his identity. A perfect opportunity. But the inhibition spell that was sewn into his slave cuffs kept him from blurting out secrets. True, the Elves did not know his past, but they were not about to take chances that he might reveal something.

He could say nothing that would lead them into figuring out who he was.

A small cough from his left made Harry turn his head futilely in that direction. Whoever stood there moved to stand in front of him, and Harry could hear the rustle of robes as he knelt down, putting himself on a level playing field with the slave. For this, Harry was immensely grateful.

The figure was silent, as though unsure of what to say. Then, a tentative voice that Harry was all too familiar with spoke.

"I understand what you're going through," it was Professor Snape, Harry realized in shock. "I know you don't understand me right now, but I want you to know that I would do anything to help you. I am all too aware of what it is like to have to play servant to someone you despise calling 'Master'. If I could have stopped the incident that occurred today, I would have."

The man audibly sighed and shifted himself back to his feet. "I know that this is an exercise in futility trying to get you to understand me. I just needed to express my deepest regrets."

The Potions Master began to walk away, but stopped at a slight distance to turn back and cast a sleep spell on Harry. As he lost consciousness, Harry thanked him profusely in his mind.

* * *

**Alright, a short chapter, but really the good stuff happens next. So hold on, it could be a bumpy ride. **

**Also, thanks to all my reviewers out there. Seeing reviews really gives me a heart for this story and encourages me to make faster updates. Please, share your thoughts and opinions.**


	5. Chapter Four

**_Harbinger of Destiny: Herald of Fate_**

**Chapter 4**

**

* * *

**

_Discovery consists of seeing what everybody has seen and thinking what nobody has thought._

_Albert von Szent-Gyorgyi_

* * *

Draco Malfoy was not a kind person. He did not smile happily at the first years or help pick up the books of someone who tripped in the hallway. He did not go caroling at Yuletide or treat House Elves with respect. He did not volunteer his time to tutor those who fell behind, even though he was the best Potions student of his class. 

Draco Malfoy was also not an evil person. He was snotty, aristocratic, elitist, and occasionally cruel, but he was not evil. He was the product of the environment he grew up with. His father was a Death Eater of Voldemort's inner circle, and even though the Dark Lord was inactive for the better part of Draco's childhood, Lucius Malfoy maintained his somewhat questionable habits.

In the short span of Draco's life he had been the witness to torture, rape, and death, and these were only some of his father's heinous crimes. But to a child who is surrounded by such destructive and dark practices, they no longer seem so strange. To a child who is immersed in the Dark Arts by the age of eight, torture seems commonplace.

Which was why Draco was not so very shocked or horrified by the actions of the Elves after the slaves fateful misdemeanor. In fact, it was not the harshest thing he had ever witnessed nor, perhaps, been subjected to. What took more effect was the sudden understanding of what the Dark Lord, his soon-to-be lord and master, was trying to accomplish.

And it thrilled him.

* * *

The weeks following that "incident", as Harry deemed to call it, seemed ordinary enough. Aside from a suspicious and paranoid observance of himself by Kabul, Harry resumed activity as normal. Rosalina had treated his wounds enough so that he would not get an infection and had let them heal naturally. After three weeks, they were partially closed over but would often open again at unfortunate moments. 

Assured of the relative safety of Hogwarts, Amin had relieved them of their constant watch. Now only two of them had to be guarding him at a time and the others were free to do as they pleased, so long as they remained within the boundaries of the castle walls.

It was more freedom than Harry had experienced yet as a slave and he cherished it. True, he was the Head of the Bodyguard, and, as such, took the most shifts, but it was still an amazing amount of freedom compared to what he was used to.

They still of course, took their meals in the kitchen, biding the rule to never eat with their betters and, unsurprisingly, had forged a friendship with the House Elves. Smitten, perhaps, by their common bond of slavery with these high and mysterious creatures, the House Elves were always quick to prepare meals, fetch strong alcoholic beverages (which the bodyguard were forced to turn down) and strike up friendly, albeit somewhat sporadic, conversations in the Elvish common tongue (the language that both High Elves and House Elves spoke).

In this new style of servitude, Harry was specifically relieved of duty during the time when the Master had Potions, and took his meals in the Great Hall. Thus, he had little contact with either Snape or Hermione after the event.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. Fascinated by the slave that dared defy his master, Malfoy talked about him constantly, watched him closely, and even once attempted conversation, insulted when Harry refused to respond.

Twice, Malfoy had begged his master for permission to "use" Harry for the day and twice Amin had refused, for which Harry was grateful. What the Slytherin Prince would do with him if he did receive permission Harry didn't no, but he was willing to not find out.

Currently, Harry was taking a shift free from duty with Amick Reginald. Amick was one of those people who could remain cheerful in nearly any situation. He was a strong fighter, intelligent, and an _Aurealis_, an aura reader of somewhat unusual strength. All of the bodyguard had a specific talent particular with them and Amick's was perhaps the most useful aside from Harry's elemental abilities.

Harry eased himself lightly into the wooden chair settled around the small table designated as the slaves eating space and nodded his thanks to the chattering House Elves who delivered the steamy meal. "_Taq_," he muttered tiredly and the Elf nearest him bounced excitedly at his simple thank you. Across from him Amick laughed heartily at the same behavior from his Elf.

(Assume this conversation takes place in Elvish)

"Excited little buggers aren't they Avex?" he commented lightly, using the nickname Harry had picked up after his training, a teasing memoir to a noted historical elementalist who was acclaimed to have extremely powerful control over fire, Harry's elemental strength.

"Oh behave Amick," Harry groaned, leaning back, and sending Amick an amused grin. "They're just curious about us. We should be grateful that they go to so much trouble to make food for us to eat every day."

"_Cri_ (aye), grateful I am, but you would think they'd get over their initial curiosity after the first month or so."

Harry just shrugged, stuffing his face with the sandwich in front of him.

"Hope Peli can control himself, that Elf is a ticking time bomb," Amick went on. "He's going to burst soon and I don't know what's going to happen after."

"It's not in his nature," Harry said, slightly reproachful.

"Nor apparently in yours." Amick was serious, a rare thing, it was the first time the two friends would talk about the incident that had occurred three weeks previous.

Harry sighed. "If that blast had hit it would have killed her."

"Nobility is not becoming of a slave," Amick quoted Kabul quietly. "If you were not so very valuable, you would have been killed. If it had been me, I would not be sitting at this table right now."

Harry downed the last bit of his pumpkin juice and stood, pulling his robes tight about his body. "Our shift begins in ten minutes," he said shortly.

"Did you know her?" Amick asked abruptly. "I mean, did you at least have a reason for what you did."

"What does it matter? Her life is as important as anyone else's whether I knew her or not."

Amick touched a hand to his shoulder. "Look Avex, Harry, I know this has been harder on you than anyone else. I mean, you're human right? I don't know much about your past but I know you were a wizard and you're just about their age. It makes sense that you might know them..."

"We have to go," Harry said shortly, and strode away.

* * *

_Dream Sequence_

_His face shown with ethereal light. It was bright, so bright that individual and particular features could not be made out. He was clothed in black, as always. There was so much anger, so much rage. Pain. Pain emanated from him and encompassed all things nearby. _

_Flames whipped out of his ebony form, flaring in different directions to form a circle around the figure. Wisps of smoke rose and transfigured into the image of a lion. But the lions eyes shone green and the image of a snake was reflected. _

_Suddenly the image was gone. There was a road that forked in two different directions. One held darkness, malignant in origin, anger and rage, hopelessness. The other too held darkness, but it also held hope. Both held death. _

_The High Lord Amin stood in the center, holding a gold encrusted collar. _

_End Dream Sequence _

Neville woke in a sweat, then pounded his head repeatedly against his pillow. Why did this dream haunt him so? Why was he seeing images in his minds eye that made no sense? The other day he had foreseen the answers to a Transfiguration test he had not known they were going to have!

The Elvin slave had called him _Jequi_, but that would mean that what Neville saw was the future. Surely he did not have that much magic in him to be able to predict that which was to come! Impossible for a boy who could not transfigure a tea cup into a mouse.

But things that he had seen had already come to pass. He had predicted the arrival of the Elvin Lords and their slaves, had seen Hermione's brash action and its subsequent punishment. He also had a vague idea that something important was going to happen soon. And that, whatever it was, Ron and Hermione would play vital parts. But the two weren't even speaking!

Perhaps that was his first task then. Maybe, to figure out what he was seeing, he needed to take the steps that his dreams were willing him to take. He only hoped that they would not lead him astray and down that darker path.

* * *

Ron frowned, deep in thought. It was breakfast, and he was sat across from Hermione, a rare occurrence nowadays. She was so subdued since that torturous incident that was largely her fault. She was hardly like herself. This bothered him deeply. 

Even though they had drifted in separate directions after Harry's disappearance, Ron would always care deeply for Hermione. She was his second friend ever, his last link to Harry, and, perhaps, the love of his life.

To find her so disconcerted was uncomfortable to say the least.

"Are you all right Hermione?" he daringly breached conversation.

Hermione was startled out of her thoughts and stared at Ron, paling slightly. They hadn't spoken since the event three weeks ago and before that had said little to each other besides. "Fine," she grunted. Ron's face darkened.

"Don't give me that. You're upset, I can tell."

She sighed. "Dumbledore talked to me. He told me if I could not hold my tongue he would be forced to suspend me from Potions class. I can't even blame him Ron! I was so foolish, so childish!"

"You were defending your beliefs," he said slowly. "It's who you are. You shouldn't blame yourself for the idiotic way that bloody Elf reacted. If anyone was immature it was him."

Hermione did not look abated. "If I hadn't of spoken up that poor man wouldn't have been tortured Ronald."

"It was his choice to step in front of you," Ron said reasonably. "Not to say you shouldn't be grateful that he did, but he was fully aware of what would happen to him when he did it. Perhaps you are partially to blame, but you can't take sole responsibility."

"Snuffles wrote me the other day," Hermione said abruptly. Ron blinked at the sudden change of conversation . "He says that Harry's alive..."

Ron turned his head away. "Do we have to talk about this 'Mione? Harry's been gone for three years. If he was alive he would have come back to us."

"He says he has proof Ron," Hermione persisted.

Ron snapped. "What proof?" he hissed, slamming his hands down in front of him, glaring. Hermione's eyes grew teary but she did not shrink back.

"He accessed the Potter family vaults Ron. In it, he found the family tree..." she trailed off, and Ron took a shaky breath, sitting back down and ignoring the stares that were glued onto the pair. "Harry's name isn't on it Ron."

"But that means..."

"It means that Harry is alive."

* * *

**Ok guys, _that_ will be explained next chapter. Please, no reviews about how a family tree works, this is my family tree and I'll explain more about it next chapter. But please, do review. **

**BTW, I've never read Tokien's works, so if my writing style resembles it, it is not intended. Thank you. **


	6. Chapter Five

**_Harbinger of Destiny: Herald of Fate_**

**Chapter Five**

Disclaimer: I do not claim rights on anything you have seen before, merely the characters and plotlines that you have not.

* * *

"_The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself."_

_Oscar Wilde

* * *

_

"Avex!" Devon Dahlios let out a stream of deep breaths as he finally found the Head of the Bodyguard. He had been running, that much was obvious from his shortness of breath and the sweat pouring down his face. He was also in a state of extreme agitation, his fingers shaking as he roughly pushed stray hair out of his ashen face.

"What is it Devon?" Harry demanded as he stood from the table in the kitchen were he and Amick had been enjoying a so-far peaceful dinner. "Is the Master in danger?'

"It's Peli, Harry," Devon admitted quickly in a stream of Elvish, his voice trembling. "He's finally snapped. He attacked the Master."

"_Evland!_" Harry cursed, and grabbed onto Devon's shoulders. "He is still in the Great Hall then, yes?" he questioned the Elf, and Devon nodded.

"Kabul commanded me to find you, he is attempting to restrain him without damaging him too much, but he isn't having much luck. He's using his gift Avex, and you're the only one who can control him without killing him."

Harry swore again and rushed out of the kitchen, accidentally trampling the unfortunate houself who stepped in front of him. Peliamos Renaldi was what the elves liked to call a tangibility monkey, able to shift between transparency, solidity, and invisibility with ease. In doing so, he could inhabit the bodies of those around him and use their energy source for a time. It made him dangerous, and risky to keep as a slave.

The situation he found in the Great Hall was a dire one. The Headmaster and many of the teachers were standing in a circle along with Kabul, Freelasco, and the Master in the center of the Hall. The older students had formed a protective shield around their house tables and were watching with bated breath at the scene before them.

Peli had taken control of Draco Malfoy's body, Harry could see, and was wielding the Seventh Year's wand in ever shifting arcs, emitting endless streaks of doubtlessly dangerous magic. Harry, closely followed by Amick and Devon quickly made their way to stand in the center circle, spreading out amidst the other defenders.

"Peli, stop, it is not worth it," Harry cried in solemn Elvish, "Release the human and submit to your Master."

"Avex," Peliamos acknowledged respectfully, Harry was one of the few people the recalcitrant slave held a modicum of deference for, "you, of all slaves, should know why I am doing this."

It was odd to hear Malfoy speak the Elvish tongue in anything but a derogatory fashion towards himself, but now was not the time to be startled by the fact.

"I understand you Peliamos," Harry admitted, "but I do not support you. You know that this is the fate you have been handed, and you must accept it, at least for now."

"No," the Elf shouted, in Draco's aristocratic lilt. "I'd rather die than live my life like this."

"That can be arranged," the overseer, Kabul, announced ominously, his face red from rage at the slaves rebellious actions, and his inability to act due to the Elf's current inhabitance of Malfoy's body.

Harry ignored the Elvish overseer, and addressed Peli directly. "Turn this around Peli. Release the boy." Harry's hands slid behind his back as he quickly accessed his elemental abilities. White flame appeared in his hand, and abruptly he shot it towards the figure in the center of the circle, and it quickly surrounded the Slytherin.

The white flame was not lethal, but it emitted enough heat to make the victim think he was getting burned. It would take only a few seconds for the flame to emit an unbearable amount of heat. Harry himself could not feel the effect, but the rest of he circle took a defensive step backwards, most of their faces suddenly flushed and sweating. No one tried to stop him however, they understood his objective.

Renaldi suddenly dropped the human form, and Harry immediately distinguished the flame. Draco Malfoy coughed harshly, and fainted to the floor. Severus Snape quickly grabbed the boy and took him away from danger, dropping him near the shielded Slytherin table.

Peliamos sneered in anger at his superior slave, all respect he had previously bestowed upon the teen instantly dissipated. Kabul stepped forward, keen to force the slave into submission, but still wary of the slaves ability to possess bodies.

"Human!" Peliamos suddenly cried, pointing at Harry, and startling the entire Hall with his rough English. "He is no Elf. Human!"

Harry growled and tackled the tall Elf. He was hot with rage and fully aware of the wisps of blue and white flame he was emitting from his body. His hands wrapped around the shocked slaves throat and he pulled out the necklace he kept for just such occasions. Forcefully, he shifted his hands from the man's neck to his hair, pulling the head upward and adjusting the tangibility necklace around his neck, thereby ensuring his incapacity to possess anyone else.

Peliamos groaned in dismay, and Kabul unappreciatively pushed Harry away, kicked the rebellious slave over on his stomach and brutally assaulted him with his whip, right there in the Great Hall. Harry rolled up and stood next to Amick, who rested a calming hand on Harry's shoulder.

When Kabul was done ravaging the Elf's backside, he produced the golden chain, hooked it to the metallic cuffs, and dragged the bloody slave away.

Many of the students were staring at Harry now, wondering if what the other had said was true and he was a human like they were. They were slowly dismissed from the room by the weary looking McGonagall, many of them still staring oddly at him.

High Lord Amin Ranus was addressing his Guardian in a low voice, and the Headmaster and Snape were engaged in a furtive conversation. Amick, Devon, and Harry knew their place and remained silent, unwilling to speak in the presence of their superiors, and not allowed the freedom to leave whilst they were not dismissed.

Finally, Freelasco made his way over to the slaves. Amin rarely spoke directly to his servants and so, they were accustomed to taking direction from Freelasco instead. The wiry Guardian dismissed Amick and Devon without ado, then locked his gaze onto Harry. "You did well tonight, slave. Your Master has deigned that you be given a reward. Speak your term."

Harry looked speculative for a moment. "Mobility of the grounds when off shift, m'Lord."

Amin was close enough to hear the terms and nodded curtly to Freelasco to acknowledge his consent. "So it shall be, though you will remain within the five mile boundary due to your master by the Debts of Obedience."

"Yes, m'Lord," Harry said.

Freelasco seemed about to dismiss Harry when suddenly the Headmaster and Snape stood next to them.

"Is it true that he is human?" Dumbledore asked politely, innocuous enough.

"It is not your concern," Freelasco said hastily. Amin came to stand next to his Guardian regarding Dumbledore with suspicious eyes. "What is it to you?"

"Mere curiosity, dear boy," Dumbledore said.

"He is human," Amin said finally, though he did not look pleased to admit it.

"And his age?"

"Is not your concern."

"Yes, of course," the headmaster said quietly, though he gazed at Harry in a new light. "Of course."

* * *

"He's HUMAN, Ron," Hermione argued heatedly, her face flushed in both excitement and ardor. "Didn't your hear him?"

"It doesn't mean anything Hermione!" Ron shot back. "He is an Elvish slave, there is nothing we can do about that."

"There is, actually," Neville said suddenly, startling them both with his presence. "If he is human that means that he can be sold to humans. Elvish slaves cannot, but if he is human that means that he can be sold to humans. It is the nature of their laws."

"You want us to _buy_ him?" Hermione asked in shock.

"It is the only way to get him out of the Elves hands."

"Then we can free him?"

Neville shook his head sadly. "It doesn't work that way Hermione. If we buy him as a slave, he must remain a slave. It is the Elvin stipulations."

Ron looked confused. "But the Wizarding World doesn't permit slavery. If he was purchased from the Elves by humans he would automatically gain freedom wouldn't he?"

"The Ministry is trying to make friendly with the Elves right now. I doubt that they would enforce restrictions on Elvin set stipulations for slavery. He would remain a slave."

"Let's do it," Hermione said, her eyes fervent.

Ron looked as though she had just said the most insipid thing on the planet. "Are you mad Hermione? You want a slave?"

"I _owe_ him Ron. He probably saved my life and he faced terrible consequences for doing it. If I can do anything to help him, I owe it to him to do it."

"Slaves are expensive," Neville cautioned quietly. "Especially one as talented and revered as he seems to be. I doubt you can afford him Hermione."

"I certainly can't," Ron said, "and my family couldn't handle the problems we would face with owning a slave."

Hermione turned hopeful eyes on Neville, "What about you Neville?"

Neville looked like a deer caught in a headlight. "I d-d-don't know, 'Mione. I doubt my Gram would approve."

"You have money in your own right though, don't you? From your parents?"

Neville slowly nodded his head.

* * *

A week later, Neville finally gained the courage to go through with his plan. Neither Ron or Hermione were aware of his intentions, and he didn't plan to let them know unless he procured what he wanted.

The initial step was to catch the High Lord without his guardian or overseer with him. His chance came on a Sunday afternoon, as Amin took a stroll along the lake, only one bodyguard, not the human one, following him.

"_Illian cro lento," _he startled the Elf enough to gain his attention. (_Greetings High one_)

"You have a terrible accent," Amin said, finally, getting over his surprise. "But you understand the basics I can see. You even had the proper greeting."

Neville's face flushed, and he stammered a thank you. _"Taq_."

"Not a problem. What is it that you want?" the High Lord settled down on a rock, and Neville took leave to sit on another one nearby. They were both silent for a moment.

"I wish to purchase one of your slaves," Neville finally got up the courage to say.

Amin was silent. Then, finally, "I have none for sale presently. And none that can be sold to a human."

"You do have a human slave though," Neville insisted.

"I do."

"I will pay handsomely for him," Neville said. Amin looked amused.

"Why do you seek a servant, human? I know you are a pureblood wizard and that often your type have high pretensions, but you did not seem the type to me to desire a slave."

"I have my reasons," Neville said defensively, though his voice trembled.

"You realize of course, that if you should purchase him, he will remain a slave. You cannot free him, it is not in our allowance for you to do so. Slaves freed by those they were not originally enslaved by have a nasty habit of striking back."

"I am aware of this."

They were both silent then. Neville attempted to hid his nervousness by turning his attention away from the situation. It was nearly ten minutes before Amin spoke again.

"The one that you seek to own is highly trained and incredibly competent. It would be difficult for me to release him into your custody without the assurance that you would be able to maintain his control. You will need to prove that you are able to mete out the appropriate punishments suitable to his disobedience."

Neville swallowed tightly. Amin looked him over, assessing him, then nodded curtly. "I doubt you would be able to do so. I am sorry to disappoint you."

The Elf stood and began to walk away, Neville looked on as he saw his chance slip through his fingers. He stood abruptly and shouted, "Wait."

The High Lord stopped and Neville caught up to him. "I'll do it. I'll prove that I can keep him under control."

"You will wait until I have a replacement as the Head of my Bodyguard?" Amin asked after a moment.

"Yes," Neville affirmed.

Amin spun around to look him square in the face. "That slave has been incredibly useful to me over the years I've had him. He has proved himself an amazing warrior and protector. His price will be high, and his obedience will be hard to procure. He also has Debts of Obedience that must be transferred on to you. Are you sure you can handle this responsibility?"

"Yes."

'If I find that you are not able to provide proper punishment in case of his disobedience, I will be forced to put him on the market, according to Elvin law. That will open him up to anyone able to pay the price. I trust you understand what that means."

"Yes," Neville swallowed nervously. If he was not able to prove his worth as a Master, that would put the slave in even worse conditions than before as he could land in the hands of someone like the Notts or Malfoys.

"I should have a replacement within a weeks time. I have tired of his constant rebellion anyways."


	7. Chapter Six

_**Harbinger of Destiny: Herald of Fate**_

**Chapter Six**

Disclaimer: I do not claim rights on anything you have seen before, merely the characters and plotlines that you have not.

* * *

_I say that a man must be certain of his morality for the simple reason that he must suffer for it._

_G.K. Chesterton

* * *

_

Harry was immensely enjoying his ability to move about the grounds freely. He traversed through the castle when he was off duty, and even, at times, found the courage to go out and about the grounds, all the way up to Hagrid's hut, only when he was sure there were no students out and about.

It had been two weeks since Peliamos had committed his terrible rebellion. Ever since Kabul had dragged him away none of the other slaves had heard a word about him, though it was their understanding that any slave who committed such an act would be sent back to the Elvin reeducation center or executed for gross insubordination. Harry felt pity for the young Elf, but he was also very angry with him. It was hard to forgive someone who revealed such a thing to an entire Hall full of people. Now he heard whispers every time he was on duty, and there were always pointed fingers aimed his way. It was uncomfortable, and put him ill at ease.

This particular day, he was enjoying a bit of sun. He had his mask on of course, as he always did, but he had removed his shirt and was allowing the sun to beat down upon his bare upper body freely. It had been a long time since he could enjoy this pleasure. Since Peliamos had been removed from duty, and the replacement had not yet arrived, the three remaining bodyguards had been on duty a lot more often then they usually were, so Harry's freedom to move about the grounds had to be taken with a grain of salt.

He was sitting by the lake, skipping rocks across, and watching the Giant Squid move his enormous tentacles back and forth, attempting to swat the rocks away as they passed. He was surprised when he felt a presence only a few feet away and even more surprised when the Potions Master sat down next to him, watching him act in a decidedly human fashion.

"Do you understand English?" Severus Snape asked quietly, his gaze fixed on Harry's ever moving hand.

Harry was silent. It could not escape his mind how extremely intelligent this man was and how quick he could be to connect the dots. It would not serve him well to unwittingly walk into the Potions Masters snares, however well intentioned said traps may be.

"Do you speak English?" the question was asked in Elvish this time, forcing Harry's hand. It could be considered rude and perhaps even worthy of punishment should he not answer the question directed towards him by someone of superior station.

"_Kree_," Harry said finally, answering in the affirmative but showing his unwillingness to speak in it by answering in the Elvish "yes".

"Then English please when you answer me _jakkaido_," Snape ordered in his native tongue, using the Elvish implication of superiority with the derogatory title of bondsman. An offensive term perhaps to some, but not one who was accustomed to much worse.

"Yes, Master," Harry acquiesced, his words slurring badly in the lilting accent he now possessed. He hoped that, at least, was enough to deter any suspicion as to his former livelihood. Beside him, out of his line of vision, Snape cringed at the obligatory title.

"Your Masters are aware of your English speaking abilities I presume?"

Harry gulped. "No, Master."

The Potions Master felt his eyebrows rise slightly as his only sign of outward surprise. Few slaves were capable of a second language, especially when they were quite often illiterate in their mother tongue, even less were able to pick up a language and keep it a secret when they were immersed in the language for an extended period of time.

"How long _jakkaido_? How long have you had this secret?"

"English is mother tongue, Master," Harry admitted, "I knew it before I knew Elvish. Was...difficult to remember for a while, but comes back now, while I am here."

The former Death Eater was silent for a moment, speculative. "Were you born a slave, _jakkaido_?"

Harry's hand faltered in the constant motion of skipping rocks. He dropped the one he held in his hand and turned his masked face away, staring off to the castle in the distance.

"No, Master."

"Then you were given up by your family? Sold to pay some of their debts?" Snape guessed.

"No, Master. My kin is knows not of this."

"Conflict then?"

"I was a prisoner of war, Master. Sold by the dark ones to...make treaty with my masters."

There was a stretch of silence. Harry bounced a few more pebbles across the skim of the water but the squid must have tired of their game and did not raise his tentacles to reach for them. After a few moments, he stopped. He was ready to leave, to return to the kitchens perhaps, or maybe even take a short nap before he was back on duty, but he could not leave until the human dictated.

"Are there many humans kept as slaves by the Elves?" Snape ventured to ask after a while, curiosity piqued, though he had not failed to notice his companions desire to depart.

"Two Master, I am one."

"You are a human," Severus muttered, his voice sounding with the assuredness of the knowledge he already knew, "Yes, I was aware of that much. And you are young. I know that as well."

Harry started. He was short yes, but he knew several men quite older than he that were shorter. Youth had not been an attribute that someone had pinned to him in quite some time. Adolescent though he was, it was not an aura he had a propensity to emit.

"Young, sir?" Harry inquired, pleasantly enough, yet stuttered apologetically at the human phrase of respect rather than the Elvin one that was required by his creed. Severus Snape did not mention the infraction.

"Slaves much wiser than you would not have stepped in front of that elemental strike."

"If I had not, life would have been lost for her," Harry's grammar was off but the meaning rang true.

"She might have," Severus agreed. "I do not disagree with the bravery in your actions. Yet even aged slaves with a stipend for altruism would not have risked the punishment such intervention would have precipitated. I do not believe I am wrong to believe that you have an extra stake in keeping Miss Granger safe."

There was a subtle accusation in that last sentence and Harry willed himself not to succumb to the dare those words had imbued. Hermione was one of his best friends, so did he have an extra stake? Of course he did. Fearful of what he might let slip should he open his mouth, he clamped his teeth together and waited the man out. He had come out here for a purpose, there was little doubt of that, Harry just needed to find out what it was so he could lead the man away from the road he was on.

"You will not be the property of the Elves much longer _jakkaido_," Severus finally said, and Harry sucked in a breath. A moment later he replied.

"I am bound for life Master," Harry said, his tones solemn, almost bored. "I owe Debts of Obedience to my Masters. Agreements would be forfeit if I was no longer a slave."

"Don't be a fool _jakkaido_," Severus sneered, reminiscent of his classroom persona. "You will always be a slave I am sure. The Elves will get their dues, they are requiring a disgustingly large fee in turn for your service. And, as you know, any slaves transferred to humans from the Elves must remain slaves, as is declared by the Codes of Magic in the conciliatory truce between the Elves and the Magical World."

Harry's breath caught. He was to be sold? He was not aware of that. He was a valuable slave, with a large amount of raw magic and trained elemental practices under his belt. The Elves had not even hinted at possible sales to the humans. He had done little wrong since his protective disobedience of Hermione at the beginning of the year. And who could possibly have enough money to purchase him that Amin would be willing to sell to?

"Neville Longbottom," Severus said, answering the unspoken question. Harry's head snapped to gaze at the man straight in the eyes, usually an offensive gesture, but neither mentioned anything of the act. "The fool Gryffindor has asked for your service. Your Master has received permission from the Elvin council, on the charge that the boy must be able to show and maintain control over you. The display will be public, and it will happen at the end of this week."

Harry was shaking. It was shock that was coursing through him now, streaming through his consciousness. Neville. The boy who had slept in the same dormitory as him all through his fourth year. Neville. The shy boy who always screwed up his Potions and cowered away from the sly man who sat before him now. Neville. The timid lion of Gryffindor House, only half a step away from he and Harry's shared fate. Neville. His friend, someone who he had always regarded with a certain amount of camaraderie and affection. Neville was going to be his Master?

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry was furious now, his face heating under his black mask in quiet, simmering rage. He had worked so hard to keep his identity quiet from his friends. Damn their intervention? Didn't they understand? He was doing this for them. "Why are you telling me all this _bloody_ rubbish?"

Oops. He had a British moment.

Snape seemed almost amused at it, obviously connecting puzzle pieces in his head as swiftly as Harry placed them on the board. Then he grew serious. "I want you to let Longbottom control you. Don't fight him, don't argue the ordinance. Accept it. Lay down and take it. Beg for mercy and let it end quickly. Allow Longbottom to walk away with you. Because if you fight, if you refuse to take the punishment, Longbottom will not have the stomach to finish it. You will lose your chance. Not for freedom, but for a happier life, at the very least."

Snape stood, then, as though nothing had occurred, certainly nothing as tumultuous as the declaration of Harry's being sold, he walked back to the castle, leaving a dumbstruck slave staring after him.

* * *

Neville fidgeted anxiously with the letter he had received from his grandmother earlier that morning. He had sent her a letter explaining his intentions and affirming the approval of the Elvin council in regards to his purchase of the slave. Her subsequent missive had been, unsurprisingly, disapproving. But he was the sole heir to both his parents, both of whom had been proclaimed mentally incompetent, and he had passed the age of majority. He was fortunate enough to have come into quite a sum of money, and that fortune allowed him to make his own choices, more so than at any other point in his life.

In fact, only Draco Malfoy, as the heir to the Malfoy fortune, was due to have more monetary value than he once the boy reached his majority. Once upon a time, before Harry Potter had been declared dead, he would have been the richest teen of their age, as heir to both the Malfoy and the Black fortunes. Now, however, as Harry was unfortunately deceased, his money was to be split between Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger at their graduation, though neither of them were aware of this. Subsequently, they would tie for third in the scale of fortunes, for Harry's treasure was that large.

Still, Neville had never been what one might call a defiant soul. He had retained the childlike innocence which dictates subordination to the requests of your familial elders. He had always listened to his Grandmothers instructions, and the mandates of those who had greater authority than he. To him, at least, this action he was about to take was rash.

But it was _necessary_, he argued to himself. It was the only way he could assure the slave a relatively comfortable stability he would not otherwise get under the rule of the harsh Elves. He just needed to gather the gall to go through with the public display which would dispatch authority over to him.

He was scared.

* * *

Snape's last words to him before his departure, had, ironically, brought a sense of clarity to the situation. Neville was faint-hearted, it was true, accepted. That was why Snape had told him to lay down and take it, so that Neville would not lose his nerve and step down. Therefore, Harry would do the opposite. The only way to maintain his secret would be to act more obstinate than he ever had before. The resulting force Neville would be required to use would be too much for the soft-handed boy to handle.

That was why, a week later, as he was being prepped for the upcoming display, he took the Overseer's words to heart. The handover was the one time when slaves were encouraged to be obstinate, were encouraged to rebel. In the Elvin homeland turnovers were something of a spectacle, Elves would crowd the punishment arena specifically to see if the new Master had what it took. So when Kabul said, in Elvish, "Give him everything you've got", Harry listened.

In all fairness, they were on level playing fields. Harry was restricted from using his magic–not that he would have used it anyway—while Neville could use his, however Harry clearly had the physical advantage on Neville's chubby, boyish form.

Surprisingly, as Kabul dragged him bodily into the courtyard where his last punishment had taken place, he was not released from his bonds as were the rules of the handover. Instead, Kabul pushed him forward, his hand tied almost tight enough to cut off circulation into the center of the courtyard. He wore only the cotton pants he had worn for his last punishment, and of course, the mask which hid his face from view.

This handover was not being encouraged or discouraged by the Hogwarts staff, though they had been well informed about the proceedings that were to take place. The students opinion seemed to be split, and many had gathered together to watch the spectacle, safe behind teacher induced safety shields.

Neville had not entered the courtyard yet so Harry was left to circulate the courtyard, trying to find a way to untie his hands which were currently putting him at a severe disadvantage. He had just decided to use a sharp rock to do the trick, and had reached down to grasp it, when the first sharp shock hit his back, sending him careening involuntarily away from the rock. Twisting defensively to his feet, he was just in time to jump away from the whip that was aimed at him once again.

Neville and Harry eyed each other across the courtyard. The look on Neville's face was both determined and grim, he had obviously decided to go through with this, damn the consequences, and Harry was forced to denote a modicum of respect his way. Still, it was hard to be deferential towards someone who was trying to beat you to a bloody pulp, however well-intentioned their actions may be.

"_Tagliare_," Neville shouted, swiftly shifting the whip to his other hand in order to intone the spell. Moments later, the rope fell away from Harry's hands and he breathed a small sigh of relief. _Now_ he could fight.

The whip came racing at him again and he rolled out of the way then ran full-tilt towards the chubby Gryffindor, tackling him to the ground. Neville let out a small "oomph" before he bodily pushed the more lithe form away. But Harry had grabbed his wand in that short amount of time and thrown it out of the boy's reach. Now they circled each other, each waiting for the other to make the next move.

That was when Neville realized he still had the whip, and startled Harry with a slash to his side, causing him to stumble and drop to the floor. Neville took advantage of his position and brought the whip down again and again, bloodying Harry.

Just as Harry was struck with the thought that he was defeated already the whip faltered and then stopped. Listening closely, Harry could hear Neville's gasping breath, his stifled cries. This was not easy on the passive Gryffindor.

Harry was bloodied, but not overly injured. He had been hurt much more than a few slashes of a whip in the past and he took advantage of his veteran experience to climb back to his feet and startle the overwhelmed Neville with a full-frontal attack.

The chubby boy lost his footing and slipped to the ground, his grip on the whip lost. Scrambling towards the tool, Harry gripped it and flung it to the other side of the courtyard. Neville struggled to his feet and they stood staring at each other, neither willing to retain the pretenses of fighting.

They stared at each other in bewilderment, neither sure where to go from there.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Harbinger of Destiny: Herald of Fate**

**Chapter Eight**

_I like coincidences. They make me wonder about destiny, and whether free will is an illusion or a matter of perspective. They let me speculate on the idea of some master plan that, from time to time, we're allowed to see out of the corner of our eye. _

_Chuck Sigars_

Just as Harry prepared to launch a full frontal attack—not to harm of course, but to discourage Neville from continuing, the pudgy Gryffindor's body suddenly went rigid. His eyes, wide and nervous a moment ago suddenly closed with an almost audible click and he began to shake. Harry froze in his tacks.

Harry had never been one to put much stock in fate.

As a young child, he had been immersed in the rigors of the Dursley household. With a family that despised him for his very birth, chores that took him the majority of the day to complete, and no childhood friends of his own to rely on, survival, persistence, and determination had seemed much more admirable traits than blind faith in preordinance.

When he had turned eleven and had been exposed to the wiles of the magical community, he had played host to a plethora of new experiences. Still, when he had taken divination and the mystique of the guiding force had been lain bare, he had turned the other way. Ironic really, as fate and destiny, prophecy and visions, had played such a role in determining his worldly path.

It was only when he had been enslaved by the Elves that he had seen fate in a new light. The Elves lived their life by a creed of divination. Visions, prophecies, and the _Jesqui_ who had them were very important to the Elvin people. Prophecies dictated laws, visions helped guide private decision making. Whole wars had been stopped or started on prophecy alone.

In fact, harming a _Jesqui_ in the midst of a vision or foretelling was considered one of the highest crimes in the Elvin world. Death or lifetime incapacitation was often the punishment. Battles had been frozen at the sight of a _Jesqui_ entering a vision, neither side daring to interrupt or harm the one who held the future in their hands.

That was why, when Harry saw Neville gaining the symptoms of a _Jesqui_ during their fight, he immediately stopped and assessed the situation. His immediate priority was to witness the prophecy Neville would foretell. His secondary priority was to protect the Gryffindor's privacy. He had not told his housemates or his family about his unique abilities for a _reason_. It was not Harry's right to allow the secret to be revealed out of his own stubbornness.

He immediately looked around at the spectators. As far as he knew, the only people who recognized Neville's current symptoms were Amin and Freelasco. Amin had a speculative look on his face, while Freelasco looked slightly worried. Elvin politics, Harry presumed. _Jesquis _were highly honored, even human ones. The humans though just looked confused and Harry couldn't blame them. To them it probably seemed as though Neville was just giving up.

Making his decision in a split second, Harry allowed himself to fall to his knees, and then laid his head on the ground below him, bowing to Neville. Neville, too far gone in the vision he was currently laying witness to could not acknowledge the gesture, but the Elves watching did. Quickly Amin announced to the gathered crowd that Longbottom had won the fight and was now Harry's master. Freelasco, taking advantage of the crowd's surprise at the sudden differentiation in the situation, took the time to erect a sound barrier, encompassing only Neville, Harry, and himself within it.

Elves took their duties to the seers very seriously.

Neville continued to shake, and then, suddenly, his eyes flew open and he intoned in a dreadfully scratched tone of voice:

_He who was lost is found...star to the north converges with he of Rome, and the child of destiny waits in the shadows...timid lion lays claim to the phoenix, he who will save the world...lovers of fate, so intertwined yet divided are caught in a web of deceit...forgiveness begets salvation...two months hence will all fall apart...the one who was lost is found._

Freelasco was frozen, his eyes speculative, while Harry himself fought to fit the pieces together. Neville, thus far incapacitated, suddenly collapsed, his legs giving out and his eyes flying to the back of his head. Freelasco dropped the silencing spell and Harry felt the subtle influx of magic that signified that the teachers had dropped the protection barrier. Harry remained in his bowed position, not daring to move, until, quite suddenly, he was knocked into oblivion.

* * *

(The following conversation takes place in Elvish)

"You say I had a vision?" Neville was quiet, his voice somber but respectful. He was in Amin's quarters, where the Elvin lord had insisted he come after the tumultuous display in the courtyard. His slave—it was so odd to think of another human that way—was asleep in the other room as he had been since Kabul had taken it upon himself to knock him out after the fight. At first Neville had been offended at this action, but, in retrospect, he recognized that it was better to deal with one potential problem at ta time.

"Yes _Jesqui_," Amin answered his question. The High Lord's tone was deferential, a quite different tone than he had had when they had last had a discussion.

"How can I have a vision and not even remember it?" Neville muttered, rubbing his forehead in reminiscence of the headache had only recently managed to subdue.

"Perhaps you were only the catalyst," Amin suggested, "It is possible the vison was not meant for you."

"Then why send it to me? Why not send it to the person for whom it was intended?"

"There are very few people with the ability to connect with the fates _Jesqui_. That is why we revere visionaries so."

"If it wasn't meant for me than who was it meant for?"

Amin and Freelasco exchanged a furtive glance, then the guardian shrugged and answered him. "There is no way to know for sure. The only witnesses were myself and your slave. Perhaps we heard it in order to pass it on, or perhaps we are meant to keep it to ourselves. There is no way of knowing until the time is right."

"Will you tell me it then?"

"No," Freelasco answered. "If Fate did not wish for your to remember this prophecy then there is a _reason_. I will not interfere with the path of destiny."

"Fine," Neville answered, somewhat annoyed. "Then at least tell me why my slave did not take advantage of my obvious weakness and instead submitted to me?'

Amin shrugged. "He recognized the signs of the _Jesqui_. Human though he may be, his experiences of our world have taught him to respect our principles. Besides, if he had tried to take advantage of you at that point, he knew we would have been forced to interfere. You could not be harmed while you were prophesizing."

Neville shook his head in wonder and rubbed at his temples. He knew that his magic was changing—it was true, but he hadn't dared to believe that he might, in fact, be a _Jesqui_. It didn't seem possible. All his life had been the shame of the family—the magical bane of their existence. Now to find that he had some inconceivable ability to look into the future, a magic so far beyond anything even truly taught at Hogwarts—it was hard to consider.

"You will need time to come to terms with this," Amin said at last, his eyes sweeping across the boy and taking in his obvious weariness and fatigue, as well as the mask of confusion that was strewn across his face. "Take your slave and give yourself some time. See us when you're ready."

Neville shook his head in wonder, then took the Elf's advice.

Even though Neville knew that at least some of his room mates knew _why_ he had taken on a slave, he couldn't help but feel nervous about their reactions when he returned to the common room–still unconscious slave floating behind him in _mobilicorpus_. Out of a sense of respect he had not taken off the slaves mask, preferring, instead, to wait till the man was conscious and he had received his permission. Technically he didn't need it and could do as he would to his slave, but this approach appealed more to his moral sensibilities.

"_Fire and brimstone_," Neville spoke the somewhat depressing password to the Fat Lady and the portrait swung open.

He took a deep breath then stepped within tentatively, carefully levitating his slave's body behind him. The sixth and seventh year Gryffindor's sat in armchairs near the fire, mugs of butterbeer in their hands, gazes turned to the portrait hole. They stared at him for a moment, then turned their eyes to the figure floating behind him.

"We sent the younger years off to bed Neville," Hermione spoke first, softly and gently. "We've prepared the Gryffindor Head Boy room for your...your slave. Since the Head Boy is a Hufflepuff this year it should not be a problem. Why don't you bring him up there and then come have some butterbeer with us?"

It was a request, nothing more, nothing less, and Neville could not refuse it, regardless of how tired he was. He nodded his head and brought the slave up to the Head boy's room where he settled him down on a soft bed and quietly left the room. He lingered at the doorway for a second, and then, regretfully, he placed a binding spell on the door. As much as he detested locking his slave in, the Debts of Obedience hadn't yet been transferred to him and if his slave wanted to make a break for it now would be the time.

They had cleared a space for him downstairs, an armchair situated next to Ron and across from Hermione, who was the logical spokesperson for the group. A minute later he recognized McGonagall's stiff form in the mass of bodies strewn about the area.

"Professor McGonagall is here representing the Headmaster and the school," Hermione said. "They wish to know what your intentions for your servant are."

Neville swallowed audibly as he settled himself in the armchair and then answered the question slowly. "I'm not sure what his responsibilities will be yet. As it is, I want to let him get settled into his new life, get to know him a little bit and let him get comfortable before we begin figuring out what his duties to me will be."

"Why did you do it?" a sixth year Gryffindor–Gina Jefferson, a muggleborn if he remembered correctly–broke in. There was an accusation in her tone, and Neville winced at it, though he had prepared himself for just such the occasion.

"He is human and I have the money and resources to support a servant–I saw no reason not to take advantage." He would have liked to tell them the truth–that he had done what he did out of a sense of justice, that he believed he could make the slaves life more bearable, but Amin's sister, Allenia, sat amongst the Gryffindors present and he could not risk her telling her brother such things.

The human Gryffindors, the one who could not comprehend such a selfish deed shifted uncomfortably and glared at him. "That's so selfish Neville," Dean Thomas said suddenly, his eyes glinting angrily in the light of the fire. "How could you do something like that?"

"Truly mate, that's not what I would have expected from you," Seamus chimed in, looking for all the world as though what Neville had done was the most offensive thing in the entire world–a personal insult to Gryffindor's everywhere. Allenia herself looked taken aback a bit by Neville's well planned response, her eyes shadowed in thought. Only Ron and Hermione managed to look nonchalant, both well aware of his reasons, both having helped plan out the conversation that was taking place right now.

In order for this to work properly, in order for the Elves to truly believe that Neville would act the part of the Master that he was expected, everyone else needed to believe it too. Now that the slave had been transferred into his custody, he was Neville's property but that did not mean that the Elves would leave him be. By taking one of their slaves, Neville had intricately tied himself to the Elvin world, and if they ever deigned him unworthy of this position, they could make his life hell. For as long as he was in the constant presence of Elves he would need to take on this new persona that Hermione and Ron were helping him design.

Unfortunately, this required sacrifices, and among them was a loss of some of his House's respect, and possibly even some of their friendship.

"Are you going to take him to classes?" Dean said, his tone hurting Neville to the very core of his being. "Parade him around as though he's some prize pet? Are you proud of yourself for this?"

Dean's voice was almost wounded, and, startled by the amount of raw emotion Neville quickly thought over everything he knew about the boy's personal life. He was muggleborn he knew, and African American, he had said once that his grandparents had lived in America, perhaps some of his ancestors had been slaves? Neville didn't know. Regardless, there was no denying that Dean was very upset about this.

"You know this is how Voldemort began," Dean said heatedly, standing now and almost yelling. "By forcing people into his service, by thinking he was better than anyone. If Harry were here, he'd..."

"_Harry _trusted Neville," Ron interrupted, and the room grew quiet out of mournful respect for the Boy Who Lived's best friend, "and if he _were_ here he would tell you all that you should do the same."

"Thank you, Ron," Neville said quietly. Dean had sat back down beside Seamus and the Irish boy was rubbing his back, trying to calm him down.

"Look, mate," Dean said after a moment. "I _do_ trust you, I just don't understand you right now. And, just for a while, I don't want to be around you. Give me some time to get used to this."

"I can do that Dean," Neville said, eager to make the peace.

"Thanks Longbottom," he said, and then he headed up the stairs to bed, a minute later, the rest of the people in the common room followed, leaving Neville alone to stare at the fire.

* * *

It took Harry sometime to come back to consciousness. When he finally did it took him even longer to remember what had happened. When he finally had his bearings back, his hand flew up to his face and he felt relief flood his body that his mask was still firmly in place. For now, at least, it seemed that the secret of his identity was safe.

With that fact established he hoisted himself up to look around at his surroundings and tried to figure out where exactly he was. Moments later he noticed the red and gold bedding and style arrangements and deduced he was somewhere in Gryffindor tower. This brought him up short and he fought the tears that sprung to his eyes at realizing that he was back in his home, where he hadn't been for three years now.

He quickly shook those thoughts away and concentrated his energy on formulating an escape plan. From what he understood about Elvish transfer of services, it was during the first month that the slave had the most ability to escape. Right now the Debts of Obedience he owed were hanging out somewhere in Limbo, readjusting themselves to his new Master. If he could get past a certain distance he would void the Debts before they had a chance to plant themselves. He would still be a slave but he would be a runaway rather than in active servitude.

He didn't consider staying for a second. He knew himself well enough to know that for all that he had endured he couldn't handle the shame of his friends knowing of this humiliation. That he would prefer them to think him dead rather than have them know of his enslavement. He knew that it would be a blow to them to realize that whatever he did in life he was a slave forever.

The door was locked, he knew that without even pulling on the handle. The magic of a binding charm sung from the hinges, discouraging even an attempt to break through. Besides, disabling a binding charm with elemental magic would be loud and messy and would inevitably attract intention, he needed a more subtle escape route.

Not hesitating he strode to the window and pulled it open. It was a long drop, a hundred feet at least. For a second he considered calling for his old Firebolt which was doubtless somewhere in Ron's luggage in the Gryffindor dormitories, but a split second later he decided against the idea. The broomstick's absence would be quickly noticed and it would call up questions about why Neville's slave and Harry's old broomstick had disappeared at the same time.

He had made the split decision to take his chances jumping when a hesitant knock on his door brought him up cold. Quickly he clasped the window shut and hurried away from the window. Moments later the door swung open and revealed a nervous looking Neville Longbottom who stared at him with what could be called breathless trepidation.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Harbinger of Destiny: Herald of Fate**

**Chapter Eight

* * *

**

_There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered._

_Nelson Mandela

* * *

_

They stared at each other in perplexed silence for an interminable period of time. Neither was sure how to progress at this point, nor were they entirely sure they were prepared to.

"How's your English going?" Neville finally asked, breaking the uncomfortable standoff with an innocent question.

"It gets better more I hear it," Harry said, his voice lilting in he way that all Elves did when they spoke the human tongue. Then, deciding this was going nowhere, divulged, "English was my mother tongue. Its just been such a long time since last spoke it. I forget sometimes the order of words. It is tricky language."

"Yeah," Neville agreed, grasping on to the subject choice. "Elvish is much more direct."

"I've been thinking a lot about what we should do," Neville said after another bout of silence. "I want you to know that if I could free you I would. Since I can't, I guess I should ask you what you would like to do."

"Yours Master," Harry said, though his stomach twisted uncomfortably. "Do with as you wish."

Neville winced. "Would you be willing to remove your mask? I would like to get to know you better."

Harry's feet shifted nervously. Then slowly he brought his hand up and slowly removed his mask, revealing, finally, his identity.

* * *

"His name is on the tree Dumbledore!" Sirius exclaimed, pacing the Headmaster's office impatiently. "Don't you understand what that means?"

"Indeed Sirius," Dumbledore said calmly, his gaze settled firmly on the tiny name at the bottom of the Potter family tree. "It means that Harry is very much alive."

"Exactly!" Sirius said. He flopped into a chair smiling widely, his point obviously made.

"How long has he been like this?" the Headmaster turned to Remus, somewhat amused, his eyes twinkling at Sirius' antics. The werewolf shrugged.

"Oh, I'd say about a week or two tops. I have to put silencio on him at night in order to get any sleep," Remus said, somewhat wearily but in good spirits.

"I see," Dumbledore said, casting another amused glance in the hyperactive animagus' direction.

"So how are we gonna find him?" Sirius asked.

The Headmaster's face dropped a smidgen. "Sirius, I am not sure what more we can do. You will remember that when he first disappeared we sent out dozens of search teams, we looked everywhere for him. If he still hasn't been found he is either in hiding or in a situation that he can't get out of."

"Harry wouldn't hide from us, not for this long, not when he knows how much pain it would cause us," Sirius said angrily, on his feet again. "That means that he's in trouble, and now that we know he's alive, we have got to do something professor!"

"Padfoot," Remus broke in, "we have tried every locator spell we know to try to track down Harry. We have even placed ads in muggle papers, filed missing child reports, Harry hasn't been found."

"There just must be something we haven't tried yet," Sirius whined, slumping back down in his chair, his face a picture of prosaic gloom.

Dumbledore looked at them both, trying to judge their emotions. "When Harry is ready he will come home to us," he said, and then he bent down, returning his attention to the recently submitted lesson plans for the second semester. He had a school to run after all.

* * *

Neville gaped. Then he opened his mouth. Then he closed it and decided that gaping was more appropriate. For a couple of minutes he fluctuated this way, caught between trying to find something to say and just transfixed at the image of the long thought dead Harry Potter–albeit very changed–before him.

"I think I need to sit down," he said after a moment, and settled himself carefully on to the bed, fighting off the blackening edges around his eyes, determined not to faint.

"Neville..." Harry began softly.

"Just a moment Harry," Neville said, his voice sharp from shock. "Just give me a bloody moment to process this."

Harry's mouth shut automatically at the command, and he bowed his head obsequiously. "Kree, Bra'sin," Harry murmured. (Yes, Master.)

Neville's head shot up in alarm. It was as though he had just realized that Harry was a slave, that Harry was in fact his slave.

"Merlin," he muttered.

Neville shook his head then abruptly stood to regard his head-bowed slave with analytical eyes. He was very angry, though he knew he shouldn't be. Knew that he should be relieved and glad that Harry was alive, even if he was in this condition. But he was still furious with Harry.

"I can't believe that we've thought Harry Potter was dead for the last three years," he snarled, and Harry was surprised by the hostility of his voice. This was the angriest Harry had ever seen him.

"He was," Harry replied gently. "I am Harry Evans."

"Changing your last name doesn't make you dead Harry," Neville said, "It just makes you a coward, hiding from us, from the world, to weak to face your responsibilities."

Harry was taken aback. Neville was the kind one, the gentle one. He was not the vicious person in front of him. The chubby's boys face was red and flushed and his hands were clenched.

"Master..." Harry started, though it hurt him inside to call his friend that. "I was not hiding. I am slave. Your slave now. There was nothing could I do."

"You could have told us," Neville said, getting up now and pacing the room in front of him. "You could have let us in on the secret. We could have helped you Harry. Merlin, do you even know how awful Ron and Hermione have been without you. They think you're dead Harry. How could you let them go on thinking that?"

"It is better this way," Harry insisted. "They can not help me and it would hurt them much to realize I am like this for always. Better for them to think me dead."

"How can you say that?" Neville shouted, then, all of a sudden he seemed to lose steam. He looked sad now. "How can you think that your friends would rather see you dead than a slave?"

"Because if I am dead, they move on," Harry said quietly. "If slave, they continue to fight. They will realize not that there is no hope."

"But Harry," Neville interrupted. "Don't you understand? They will have you."

* * *

Allenia nodded demurely as her brother droned on about the upcoming winter holiday and their return to the Elvish world for a while. Most of their conversations went like this, Amin talking at her while Allenia feigned interest and attempted in all ways not to offend her brother. It was a strange dynamic. In return for her reticence and seeming obedience, Amin lent her fondness and protection while Allenia was able to go about her business without her brother's interference.

The result was that Amin regarded his sister with less than the suspicion that she justly deserved, assuming her innocent expressions and willing compliance were signs of obedience.

So as her brother continued to talk of matters having little importance to her, Aleena drifted off and her swift mind began piecing together the events of the last week. Harry was with Neville now, she knew that, and she was also well aware that the Gryffindor boy would soon know of his slave's true identity. What the pudgy seventh year would choose to do with the information was speculation. Harry had not told her enough of his past life's friends for her to accurately guess the boy's intentions.

Her relationship with Harry was a strange one, and one that had remained a possibly deadly secret since his entrance to the Elvin world. The nature of their relationship was ... unusual...and the divulgence of information shared between them was widespread.

To put it simply, Harry and she had been romantically involved for just shy of two years. Their rendezvous were few and far between and subject to constant interruption. But their affection and the possibility for love had grown between them at a constant pace, never tapering off despite the obvious objections of her culture.

They had first made contact when Harry was fresh from the reeducation camp. New as both a slave and a guard he had been put on the lowest level status in her family's manor–guarding her. As the lowest ranked member of her household Aleena was often an afterthought and, as such, was considered last priority in terms of protection. She thus got the least trained guards, or the ones who had fallen out of favor with the higher ranked members of her kin. The situation suited everyone involved as Aleena took advantage of her privacy to do things that most of her family would most likely not sanction, the guards got something of a break, and the family could answer inquiries to her safety with a clear conscience, maintaining she had suitable protection.

As more and more of her guards tapered off into the higher levels of security or were proved unworthy and returned to the reeducation camps, Harry remained a constant. Though most likely the strongest guard her family had, he did nothing to draw attention to himself in order to rise the ranks, nor did he do anything to cause his removal from her guard. Soon he was the only of her original guard left, and, as her family began to recognize the benefits of having one strong guard stationed on her rather than a dozen weaker ones, he became her permanent bodyguard.

When she had first started to have feelings towards him, she pushed them away, appalled with this breach in Elvish upbringing and refusing to acknowledge the growing emotions inside of her. As they continued, she put aside her feelings as an Elf and focused on those of a woman and began to slowly bring down the walls separating them as Lady and Slave and erect a foundation between a woman and a man.

His responses were awkward at first too. At first he responded to her feelings because he thought it was required of him. He assumed she meant to use him as a bedroom slave, and he had been taught that to refuse the whims of a woman meant swift punishment in the world of a male slave. So he surprised her by responding to her. Then, slowly, as she wanted to acquaint them with touches instead of just words, she recognized his hesitance...and questioned it.

When she uncovered the truth she was horrified. For half a year she refused to touch him at all, wouldn't even engage him in conversation for fear he would take it the wrong way. Then, suddenly, perhaps because he had been in her service for a while and nothing untoward had occurred, he began to trust her.

From there, the attraction escalated quickly. Only half a year later found them in bed for the first time. He, the trusted servant, unquestioned in her rooms because of his position. And she, the Lady virgin, who's family had unknowingly enslaved the man of her dreams.

They both understood the danger of their positions. And when they had found out they were going to Hogwarts and that Harry had been appointed as Head of the Guard, he had made it painstakingly clear that their affair could no longer continue. But now...he was no longer a slave in the Elvish service. And his new master was a member of her House...perhaps he would not be opposed to "lending" out the man for a few nights, especially if Harry raised no objections.

* * *

No food...no water.

If Harry hadn't know that Neville was not psychologically capable of viciousness he may have started to worry. An entire day, twenty four hour time period had passed and Harry had not heard another word from his old friend. Nor had he received any type of nourishment. If he had not known Neville before and was not well aware that the oversight must be intentional, this kind of treatment may have garnered a violent reaction from him. Instead, he recognized that Neville had important things on his mind, and that feeding him probably hadn't occurred to him. In fact, Neville was a pureblood, and so well accustomed to House Elves providing for his every need, he had likely assumed that Elves would take care of him. Unfortunately, House Elves had received instructions since the High Elves arrival that clearly maintained that no slave was to be fed outside the kitchens without explicit permission.

As if his thoughts had summoned the nervous Gryffindor (and hey, this was Hogwarts, maybe they had), Neville suddenly stood framed in the doorway of his room, holding a plate overflowing with food.

"I...I didn't r-realize the House Elves couldn't feed you," he said quietly, sounding ashamed of himself. "I brought you something to eat."

"It's ok," Harry said, equally somber. "After years been away, understand you may be little distracted."

"It is somewhat mind-blowing," Neville admitted, coming into the door all the way and handing the tray to Harry who had stood from the bed when his master entered. Neville settled on the bed, and Harry placed the tray on the bedside table, unwilling to eat while his Master was present. His stomach betrayed him, growling expectantly, and Neville gave him a harsh look.

"Don't not eat on my account," Neville said, and Harry, nodding complacently grabbed a banana and kneeled at Neville's feet, stripping the skin and savoring the first food he had eaten since before that fight with Neville the other day.

Neville didn't question his automatic submission, nor did he call attention to it besides a slight shaking of his head.

"I don't know what to do Har," Neville sad finally. "I know I should tell Dumbledore, Hermione, Ron, Sirius, hell, everyone...but I don't want to do it behind your back. We've been friends for too long for me not to know that you don't do something without a good reason. And, Harry, this had better be a _damn_ good reason."

The statement ended expectantly and Neville met Harry's gaze, which Harry automatically dropped.

"Master, I am slave for life. Like this, cause more pain than comfort. Better 'Mione and Ron not know."

"Not good enough. You're gonna have to do better than that to explain why you let them and me believe you were dead for these past years. Tell me how you became a slave Harry."

And so Harry told him. About after that third task, how Voldemort had gleefully handed him over for the Elves to vie for their support in the war. How the Elves had uncovered the blood connection between them and him. How they had blackmailed him, using his only remaining relatives' lives hanging in the balance, in order to earn his Debts. How Harry had suffered through the reeducation camps, had come to know and accept his place in the world. He didn't tell Neville about Allenia. The boy was too open to outside persuasion as of yet, a skilled legilimens could glean the information from his mind without twitching an eyelid.

At the end of it Neville's eyes were teared up but he used strength Harry hadn't known he had to keep them from falling and met Harry's gaze squarely, assessing him up and down. "I understand now why you did it Harry, but I think that you don't give us mere wizards enough credit. No, listen. Hermione and Ron will be heartbroken when they find out you're a slave. They'll be devastated when they realize that you'll be a slave for the rest of your life. But when that devastation has passed and they've had time to mourn your freedom, they'll cherish the fact that you're still alive, and that you're still _you. _And that is why tomorrow I am going to tell them that you're here, and that you're alive."

That decided, Neville left Harry to his thoughts.


End file.
